A Walking Shadow
by Ariadne AWS
Summary: Hermione returns to Grimmauld Place, looking for answers. She wasn't expecting to find Severus Snape. PostHBP. WINNER, QuilltoParchment Round 2: Best Fanon Het. RUNNER UP, QtP Round 2: Trio Era & 2006 OWL AWARDS: Best HGSS, Best Original Character.
1. Prologue: Not Your Brightest Idea

A/N: Thanks to my betas, Luna305 and Melenka, and to the lovely TimeTurnerForSale (a.k.a. Anastasia) who keeps a certain Boggart in its cabinet.

_(Taps wand on computer...) I solemnly swear that the overarching plan for this story is complete, has been subjected to extensive analysis, and is sealed in a private vault. (... taps wand again.)_

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**Prologue: Not Your Brightest Idea**

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley stood flanking Harry Potter in the Dursleys' kitchen.

"Thanks for… well..." Harry shrugged, and with those words, he left Number 4, Privet Drive, and his hidebound Muggle relatives forever. Hermione and Ron remained behind, glaring at the Dursleys.

"Good riddance," Uncle Vernon spat.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance and whipped their wands out. "_Gluteus Porcus!_" they yelled. The Dursleys' hands flew to their backsides, and Hermione and Ron Disapparated.

A moment later they rejoined Harry in the garden at the Burrow.

"Oh, Harry, you should have seen their faces!" Hermione hugged him, laughing.

"How long do you think it'll take them to figure out it wasn't a real spell?" Ron grinned, slapping Harry on the shoulder. "Happy Birthday, mate."

"It'll take Dudley a week to stop running. Thanks, guys." Harry smiled, his first real smile in ages. He was free, and he was home.

The Weasleys had been only too pleased to have Harry move in with them. He had refused to consider Grimmauld Place; it held too many memories, too much guilt. The house Harry had inherited was theoretically safe enough – strangely, it had been Mad-Eye Moody who had reassured them on that score, informing them flatly that Secrets do not die with their Keepers. Everyone – even Moody – accepted Kreacher's obedience to Harry as sufficient evidence of his ownership.

Although Harry wanted to forget the house existed, it was too strategic an asset to abandon completely. If nothing else, it provided a bolt-hole. Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt had consequently spent a tense week at Grimmauld Place, placing a permanent Locking Charm on the door – "Unsafe to risk exposure even for a few minutes outside," Moody had grumbled – and adjusting the existing wards to allow Apparition only by Order members. That particular enchantment had required Harry's presence, not because he owned the house, but because his wand contained one of Fawkes' tail feathers. Hermione had been especially curious about how they'd managed to key the wards without a Dark blood ritual – she assumed it had to do with Fawkes' being the Order's symbol in more than just name – but the one time she had ventured a question, Harry had looked so stricken that she had dropped the subject, cursing herself for insensitivity. _Tactless, Granger,_ she had admonished herself. _Reminding him of Professor Dumbledore and Sirius in one breath, all because of your fascination with magical theory. All of our lives depend on a sane, strong Harry._

The Order had also done everything in its power to make the Burrow a safe haven: making it Unplottable and sequestering its existence within Minerva McGonagall's mind as an officially Kept Secret. And from this evening on, when the blood legacy of his mother's sacrifice had expired, Harry would have a round-the-clock guard. From where the trio stood in the garden, they could see Mad-Eye and Tonks through the kitchen window. Tonks, at least, was clearly enjoying Mrs. Weasley's cooking; Mad-Eye seemed, even at this distance, to be scrutinizing the food with equal parts hunger and suspicion.

"Fancy some dinner?" Ron asked, heading for the house without waiting for an answer.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a smile, and she said, "You go on ahead. There's something I want to check first."

Harry ruffled her hair affectionately. "Let me guess. Er… wait, it's coming to me… A book?" He grinned.

She rolled her eyes at him. "There are one or two references I need to track down."

"So you're off to Hogwarts?" He laughed. "We won't wait up. See you in the morning, then." Glad, whatever faced him, to have finally seen the last of Privet Drive, he turned and followed Ron into the Burrow.

Hermione bit her lower lip. She hadn't lied, exactly. _No, you let Harry do it for you._ Well, it was for Harry that she was going, anyway. He hated Grimmauld Place, and if she could spare him any pain, she would. It wouldn't take her very long to Apparate in and check Kreacher's nest for Slytherin's locket. If it was there, she would bring it straight to Professor McGonagall. If not, well, there _were_ a few books there that she needed, Dark Arithmantic texts that she would not find even in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts.

Since leaving Hogwarts after the funeral, she had spent every free moment analyzing everything Harry had told her and Ron about his lessons with the headmaster the previous year. Researching the Horcrux problem, surrounded by books, covering rolls of parchment with formulae and equations, she had obsessively focused her formidable logic and Arithmantic skills on the questions of how to find them and how to destroy them. But in the moments between waking and sleeping, her mind would substitute two different, unbidden questions, questions that no one else seemed to be asking: Why had he done it, and where had he gone?

She mentally listed the rest of the Order members and their current assignments. Although the books she wanted were not technically illegal, they would probably earn her an official inquiry were she caught with them, so she definitely did not want an audience. The Weasleys, recovering from wedding chaos, were all at home save Mr. Weasley, who was probably still at the Ministry with Shacklebolt. Lupin had returned to the werewolves, and Hagrid was still working with Grawp toward some end only he knew. She had no idea where Mundungus Fletcher might be, but was willing to bet that he wouldn't return to Grimmauld Place after Harry had caught him with the Black family heirlooms. _If it's not where I think it is, we'll have to track him down._

There was another name, of course, one that had become blasphemous in the Order. Once the initial shock had worn off, even the mention of his name was a flashpoint. In the weeks since the funeral, she had endured Harry's rages that, although spectacular, she privately found less alarming than the sullen silence that had followed Sirius' death the previous year. Ron's inarticulate but intense moods were nothing new to her. Tonks' universe, apart from her Auror and guard duties, appeared to have shrunk to include nothing but Lupin, and the Weasleys seemed more sad than angry. Mr. Weasley looked more drawn, more tired than usual, but she supposed that was true of all of them these days, especially the older Order members, who could remember the last war.

She drew a shuddering breath. She did not want to think what Professor McGonagall was feeling.

It was easier not to mention his name at all, although her increasingly stubborn inner voice insisted that this was the very impulse that gave rise to calling Voldemort "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." _What will they come up with for Severus Snape? "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Mentioned"?_ She laughed mirthlessly – a new habit for her – but once again found her thoughts inevitably returning to the dark shape in her mind, the shape of the man who had killed Professor Dumbledore. It was like a black hole, drawing in all of the energy around it, silently, deadening, returning nothing. _Like my Potions essays, returned with an O and nothing else..._

She snorted. _You're talking about murder here, Granger, and comparing it to your schoolwork? Some soldier for the Light you are. "Lord Voldemort, could you give me tips on improving my hexes? I've found a variant reading in a footnote."_ She snorted again. _I'm going mental. And I'm procrastinating. Better get moving before someone sees me, someone who will ask more questions than Harry._

She decided to walk down the lane that led toward Ottery St. Catchpole to clear her head before Apparating. _No sense splinching myself._

_Distraction, detonation, detention…_ And once again she slipped into memory, back to the Potions classroom, hearing that voice, the voice that seemed to defy the laws of acoustics, bypassing distance, achieving tangible resonance only when it found its home somewhere in her mind. _You should have to have a license to have a voice like that. It can't be legal. It certainly shouldn't be allowed._

Too lost in thought to pay attention to the uneven ground, she stumbled. _Stop it, Granger. Professor Dumbledore is dead. Severus Snape murdered him. The Order is still reeling from loss, from betrayal; his name is anathema, and your breaking an ankle won't teach them that silence is the enemy._

Yet despite herself, she heard the voice of the former Potions master, saying, "I can teach you how to brew fame, bottle glory, even put a stopper in death…"

She stopped walking.

A look of renewed determination appeared on her face – the look that always made Harry and Ron exchange a resigned shrug. They knew well what that look meant; it meant, "I'm going to the Library." It meant missed meals, monosyllabic responses to questions, and "Don't wait up" – until she had proven her latest flash of insight, and refined it to her satisfaction.

Resuming her walk, she smiled to herself. It wasn't a particularly nice smile; it was the smile of someone who, if she didn't know the answer, knew that she had it anyway because she had found the right question. It would not have been out of place on a Gringotts goblin, and, on the youthful face of Hermione Granger, it deeply disturbed everyone who'd ever seen it.

She had been certain that the questions of "Why" and "Where" were related. Now, thanks to her memory of that softly dangerous voice, she had a suspicion as to what the answers were.

She reached the end of the lane. A few seconds later, still smiling her equally dangerous smile, she appeared in the kitchen at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

/x/

A few seconds after that, she was pinned against the kitchen wall, a wand to her throat, its end glowing with a barely restrained curse.

_Not your brightest idea ever, Granger._

Black eyes boring into her own, demanding an account. A reason. Something. Something she wasn't sure she possessed.

_Help._

Her wand arm held to the wall with a grip like iron, her wand pointing feebly toward the ceiling, where her eyes darted briefly. _I could bring the ceiling down. Or not._

His grip tightened on her wrist, cutting off the blood flow. His hand squeezing, ruthlessly, feeling seeping out of her hand until, finally, her wand clattered to the ground.

"Looking for something?" he murmured.

She could not speak.

His wand forced her chin higher, straining her neck.

Those eyes drew closer, reflecting the wand glow from the spell he held in check, a split-second from release. Deafened by her own heartbeat, she finally managed a hoarse whisper. "You."

His eyes hardened. He released her wrist and, not taking his eyes from hers nor dropping his wand, closed his hand gently, relentlessly around her throat.

The edges of her vision started to blur. Unable to breathe, desperate, panicking, she gripped his forearm and tried with all her strength to force his hand away. Her vision went dark, darker…

He leaned in closer. "_Definitely_ not your brightest idea ever, Miss Granger."

The last thing she saw before everything went black was her own face, an agonized mask of terror, of betrayal, of pain, reflected in those relentless eyes.


	2. Interlude: Destroyed But Not Defeated

A/N: I bled this one. My gratitude to Luna305, Anastasia, Mimiheart, and the Potion Mistress, who all bled this one with me. Ladies, my Muse and I thank you.

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**Interlude: Destroyed But Not Defeated**

He watched the light fade from her eyes, watched her eyes close, and counted, slowly.

The curse he held in check was a problem. If she moved before he redirected it…

Swiftly, he closed the distance between them, pressing himself fully against her, forcing her back firmly against the wall, releasing the pressure on her throat, sliding his hand behind her head to cushion it. Only when he was certain she could not even move involuntarily did he flick the curse that remained in his wand out and away, covering her face with his.

A nearby chair exploded, bits of wood and metal flying toward them. Most glanced off of his heavy cloak, but one large chunk bored into his left shoulder.

Ignoring the pain, he pulled back and examined her. Other than the impression of his fingers reddening on her neck, she was unharmed.

Finally allowing himself to breathe normally, he eased her gently to the ground. He sat, leaning against the wall, resting her head in his lap, and his expression softened.

"I've been expecting you, Miss Granger."

He smoothed a wayward curl from her face, tracing her jaw line with his fingers, his touch defining her. He had been waiting for her, although he had not expected her to appear on Potter's birthday. He'd assumed she would eventually connect the Horcrux with Regulus Black, and thus with the house-elf's cache of treasures.

"Good of you to come alone."

He pocketed her wand, closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the wall, warm blood on his cloak. He could heal his shoulder – he'd healed himself of worse, over the years – but it would wait. He listened to the young woman breathing in his lap, waiting for her to awaken.

He idly traced Arithmantic symbols on her forehead with his little finger, slowly, one by one, finally resting his hand on her hair as if he could impress them on her mind. A blessing. A benediction.

And, perhaps, a threat.

_She will certainly see it that way, initially._

As the light faded in the kitchen, he began to speak.

"At this moment, I am the safest man in wizarding Britain. It's confusing. Your mind is adequate to the task. The Order does not come here often; I have ample warning when they do. Before he died – he was already dying, Miss Granger – Dumbledore and Fawkes branded me. Another brand. Invisibly, a circle of Phoenix tears over my heart, attuning me to this place, to its magical signature. It works like a Proteus charm. At the approach – by door, or, now, Apparition – of an Order member, the circle over my heart warms, and I know to Disapparate.

"A touching symbol. He had that flair.

"He was already dying. He is dead by my wand, but not my will; he was already dying when he collected Potter from his Muggle home last year."

Hermione stirred. He stroked her hair, and she quieted.

"I doubt the Order knows or cares where I am. They assume I am 'with' the Death Eaters, as though that were a place. You will have to change their thinking, Hermione. It won't be easy. I won't be there to help you.

"The Order is not nearly as powerful as the Death Eaters, nor will they be until Potter sorts things out. I am afraid-"

He touched her face gently.

"-that will be up to you too. But among the Death Eaters, I am safe. Ironic. For my success on the Tower, I was awarded the honor of punishing young Mr. Malfoy for his failure. A knotty problem. I had made an Unbreakable Vow with his mother to protect him. Had I refused the honor of punishing him, we both surely would have died. As the Dark Lord's scourge, I could at least control, perhaps offset, some of the damage. You will note that I didn't die; my decision to harm him was the best protection I could give him. I bit my tongue and nearly choked on my own blood and the lash in my hand sliced scars into the boy's perfect skin.

"There is a lesson there, Hermione. No; I can call you Miss Granger no longer. Do not ask it of me.

"We live in a tangled web of blood, scars, and protection, and I sit in the middle, watching, and waiting.

"I have been waiting for you, Hermione. Right now, for now, you are safe, although you will not believe me. It will be… interesting, to see what happens."

He regarded her softly for a moment, brushing her lower lip with a fingertip.

"I rent my soul on the Tower, Hermione, but it was not the first time. It is not new. I am almost certainly destroyed, but not defeated. In this moment, I count myself lucky."

He sat bleeding in the darkness, stroking her hair.

_She should be conscious by now._

/x/

Hermione Granger was definitely conscious.

And furious.

And trying to figure out why she wasn't dead.

And why he was playing with her hair.

And what he had written on her forehead.

Mostly, though, she was furious.

And she had never felt so alive.


	3. The Equations Don't Balance

A/N: My thanks to Melenka for keeping this honest.

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**The Equations Don't Balance**

_... He sat bleeding in the darkness, stroking her hair._

He felt her body tense, and he drew his hand away, lighting his wand.

She surged to her hands and knees, hair veiling her face. Sweat beaded on her skin, chilling in contrast to the warmth of his body. She felt strands of her hair sticking to her sweaty face, and reflexively she tried to toss the strands over her shoulder.

His heart tightened at the familiar gesture.

Reaching up, she pushed the offending strands off of her face, smudging dirt and grit from the long-neglected floor on her forehead. She snapped her head to look at him, and began, "D-" She winced, one dirty hand flying to her throat.

"Don't try to talk," he said, very gently.

She held her throat and dropped her head. Her hair again veiled her face, a single strand falling straight into her eye. She blinked rapidly and rubbed her cheek on her shoulder, trying to push her hair out of her eye.

He gestured. "May I?"

She stared at him warily, one eye screwed tightly shut in pain. "I-"

"Shhh. Don't talk. Look up." He carefully moved the hair out of her face. "Close your eyes now." He brushed the grit off of her forehead, and rubbed the smudge away as well as he could. He tipped up her chin with a finger. "There. Better?"

She nodded, looking at him warily.

"I am going to heal your throat. All right, Hermione?"

She closed her eyes and nodded again.

Darkness.

She flinched at the feel of his wand on her throat. Warmth and relief soon followed. A fleeting touch on her cheek.

With a flick of his wand, he lit the lamp on the table.

She massaged her throat. "Thank you."

His eyes glittered, and he nodded. "It was the least I could do."

"True, since you were the one who caused it to begin with." She frowned. "I assume you have my wand?"

He nodded, thinking, _And so it starts._

She stood, rubbing her hands on her jeans, and drew a deep breath. "How could you?"

"That is a rather a broad question."

"With several follow-ups."

He waited.

"Fine. I'm not going to have _this_ conversation in a dirty kitchen. I am going to the library, Severus Snape. Try not to hex me on my way out the door." Tossing her hair most effectively, she turned and stalked out.

Mrs. Black's portrait started shrieking. "Mudblood filth! Besmirching the halls of my House! Freakish contagion!"

From the kitchen, Snape heard Hermione snap, "Oh _shut it_, you foul-mouthed pretext!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. _Pretext?_

Mrs. Black continued her tirade, and Snape heard a distinct _whump_ followed by a sudden silence that, even from where he sat, felt decidedly embarrassed. Then –

"Ow."

Despite himself, Severus Snape chuckled. Rising stiffly, he headed for the library.

In an astonished but – blessedly – hushed tone, Mrs. Black's portrait asked, "How _dare_ you?"

Hermione laughed bitterly. "The question of the hour, Mrs. Black. Now, if you'll pray excuse me…"

Stunned, Mrs. Black gaped at her.

Snape heard Hermione mutter something about "manners" as she went into the library. He leaned against the wall, pulled the chunk of wood out of his shoulder and whispered a healing spell. Gripping the wood in his fist like a talisman, he entered the room behind her.

She sat on one of the leather chairs before the empty hearth, rubbing her arms. "If you would be so kind as to light a fire."

He complied, and stood by the fireplace, leaning his good shoulder on the mantle.

"Severus Snape, you owe me – and the whole world - an explanation. Several, in fact."

"You, indeed. The world-" he shrugged skeptically.

"Quit stalling."

His eyes glinted, but his voice was even as he asked, "One wonders where you would like me to begin?"

She sniffed. "The beginning, of course."

"If we had a week, perhaps."

"Just the high points then. Starting," she continued, her voice low, deadly, "with the Tower. _How could you?_"

He stared into the flames, remembering. "He was already dying. I believe you heard that part?"

"I heard."

He glanced up briefly, then turned his gaze back to the fire. "When he destroyed the ring, the darkness that had preserved that piece of the Dark Lord's soul entered his hand. It was a mistake made in ignorance, Miss Gr- Hermione."

She furrowed her brow.

"As he often seemed to be what we asked of him, he was not infallible. He did not know everything."

"What happened?"

"You are aware it takes a life to create a Horcrux, yes?"

She nodded.

"It takes another to destroy one."

Her mind immediately flashed to her friends' faces, the faces of people she loved. _Harry… Ron… _Horrified to hear herself counting, she stared at him.

A fleeting look of sympathy crossed his features.

"But… the diary…" she protested.

"Miss Weasley was nearly dead – enough to satisfy the Horcrux Indemnity, at least a weak one. The more power involved in its creation, the more powerful the remuneration required to destroy it. To create his second Horcrux, the Dark Lord killed his father and grandparents."

"Not an even exchange for Dumbledore," she said, tears welling in her eyes. A moment later, her hand flew to her mouth as she realized the implication of her words. "I didn't mean-"

"I agree, Hermione," he said softly. "And that is how Darkness works, preying on pain, promising justice. Do not judge yourself too harshly, but do not forget."

"Another lesson, 'Professor'?" she asked, deliberately twisting the knife that was his former title.

His irritation spiked. "If you are going to punch every portrait that offends you, Miss Granger-" he began.

"Hermione."

He shook his head firmly. "No. Miss Granger. We can ill-afford your childishness. I have barely begun to explain our situation, and if you prove to have no more self-control than your foolish friends, I fear there is no point."

She stood and stepped toward him, raising her voice. "If there is no point, then why do you bother?"

His eyes flashed dangerously at her. "For the same reason I have done everything for over seventeen years, Miss Granger. Because I have no choice."

The air crackled between them.

"We all have choices-"

Raising his voice, he cut her off. "I made mine long ago. And you, you foolish young woman, will listen to me until I have finished. Then you may judge me, Miss Granger. You will not judge me out of ignorance."

She refused to back down. "I came here looking for you, Severus Snape. Despite my friends, despite the Order, and despite what might happen if I was lucky enough to find you – exactly what you did to me in the kitchen, I might add – Despite every reason not to, to stay at the Burrow like a good little girl – 'Don't think' – 'Don't ask so many questions' – I have not been able to get what you did and who I believed you to be – needed you to be – to make any sense!" Scathingly, she continued, "I have used logic. I have used Arithmancy. I've reviewed all of my memories of you: your every expression and posture, every inflection in your voice, every harsh word and every cunningly hidden compliment – It's all a carefully crafted mask, an act, that's obvious – but still: nothing adds up. The equations don't balance, Severus Snape, they do _not_ balance, and no one knows why except for you and a bloody portrait that's pretending to be asleep."

He looked Stunned.

"Oh yes" – a brittle laugh – "…he's faking. I'm sure of it. So please," she sneered, "please don't preach to me about ignorance when I am the _only_ one who's bothered to realize that I _don't_ know, that _you do_, and that whatever it is not only matters, but is probably the most important thing in the world." She stalked toward him. "What don't I know, Severus? What do I need to know?"

The silence rang between them.

She stopped less than a foot from him, raising a hand as if to touch his face, stopping just shy of it. She held his gaze for a moment. "We need you. Without you, we will fail." She let those words sink in, then dropped her hand and delivered her coup. "And I, for one, refuse to die just because your psyche has more buttons than your bloody frock coat."

_Damn._ Finally, he found his voice. Drawing himself ever so slightly taller, he said, "Then you will need to listen."

Her eyes narrowed. _Took you a long time to choose the appropriate mask, there, "Professor."_ She nodded. "Agreed." Arranging her features into a flawless imitation of his own, she sat, crossed her legs and – looking for all the world like a medieval queen – opened her arms. "Proceed."


	4. A Patronus Can't Lie

A/N: My usual gratitude to the divine Anastasia, a.k.a. timeturnerforsale, a.k.a. She-Who-Raises-The-Stakes.

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**A Patronus Can't Lie**

_"Proceed."_

Gripping the wood he still held hidden in his hand, he continued, "Albus Dumbledore's death balanced the death of all living members of two generations of the Riddle family. This is blood magic – old magic, Hermione, more powerful than you dare to imagine." Fearing what he might find, his eyes swept her face, already alight with her desire to know. _She reminds… No._ His voice deepening with urgency, "It will find you; perhaps sooner than you anticipate. It is not a test you can study for. The magical power of blood ties is a mystery, Hermione, and not in the detective sense. It will never make sense. It is the opposite of sense. It is chaos." He shut his eyes, blocking out a memory. His voice emptier, almost hollow, he finished, "The power that ultimately took Dumbledore's life is the very power that saved Harry Potter."

"I don't understand."

He regarded her intently for several heartbeats. "You will."

She fought the urge to look away.

"When the headmaster destroyed the Horcrux, he guessed what was happening, and came immediately to me. We had little time. We bought a little more." He closed his eyes, remembering.

Unbidden, a small note of triumph sounded in her mind. "You put a stopper in death."

"Temporarily."

"To buy him time to work with Harry."

"Yes."

She drew a breath to speak, but changed her mind. Instead, she stated, "Harry's still not ready."

Eyes narrowing, he nodded.

"And the headmaster's portrait isn't really sleeping," she continued.

He was still, his eyes completely alert.

"And I'm supposed to be listening. I'm sorry." She folded her hands in her lap and tilted her chin toward him, every inch the Head Girl she should have been. _Your move, Severus Snape._

He blinked slowly. "We agreed that when the time came I should be the one to release him."

"Kill him, you mean." _Ouch. Not well done, Granger._

He regarded her clinically. "We could not prevent his death, Hermione, merely slow its progress. Despite all of our research, our experiments, he was dying, painfully, before our eyes. I said I released him. If you pay attention, you will realize that I always mean what I say."

"Yes, but you rarely say what you mean. If you are trying to tell me that you bear no moral responsibility for the headmaster's death, Severus, I'm afraid we see morality very differently."

He bristled. "I will not debate morality with you. Not on this issue"

Her eyes glittered dangerously.

Her expression unnerved him, but he pressed on. "I released him. From the slow agony of the Horcrux's curse, from certain torture by the Death Eaters or - worse - Greyback, and from watching the hopes he had unwittingly bartered his life for die with him."

"You killed him to protect him, then."

"Of course I did," he hissed. "And to protect young Mr. Malfoy. And your precious Potter."

Her heart grew louder. She did not quite dare ask what it had cost him, but she had to know. She had to at least try. She ventured, "A high price to pay."

"Relatively speaking, no. It scarcely matters." His instincts told him he was being measured, tested...

"It matters to me." _Check._

His instincts betrayed him. His hand twitched toward the Phoenix brand, but he realized it was dormant. Hidden in the folds of his cloak, his other hand clenched the jagged chunk of wood, tacky with his drying blood and fresh sweat, forcing slow splinters into his palm.

Careful to keep her face a neutral mask, she thought, _Check. Now, easy, Granger. You need your wand back._ "And it matters to you. Your list of people you have had to harm to protect is short by at least one name. Yours."

He focused on the splinters. "And?"

"And you do nothing unintentionally. Even your silences have meanings. Painful ones, usually." She smiled, and raised an eyebrow at him.

He found it profoundly disturbing.

Rising, she asked, "Tea? Pretending we're not debating morality is making me terribly thirsty."

He nodded mutely, relaxing his grip on the wood.

At the door, she turned. "Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Do I remind you of someone?" _Checkmate._ She left the room.

Severus Snape did not move. He opened his hand slowly, the wood's rough texture raking the splinters in his palm. A small pain makes a good distraction, if the other pain slices too deeply.

After a moment, he let the wood drop into the fire. He heard his blood hiss as it boiled in the flames.

Once in the hallway, she leaned against the wall, trembling. Adrenalin rushing in her ears in a sudden flush of relief - and something infinitely more complicated. Professor Dumbledore had definitely been a genius. 

_Breathe, Granger. Breathe… Oh, gods._

In branding Severus Snape's heart, Dumbledore had given anyone who paid close enough attention – in other words, her – a tremendous gift: Severus' "tell."

_He mistakes his heart working properly as a signal from the brand. And it can only work here, in this house._

Utter genius. Only someone who cared enough to look for it would find it. She hugged this knowledge close to her. She laughed. _His hands._ She closed her eyes and smiled.

Her laugh brought him out of the library. He stopped, captivated. Emotions and firelight played across her face.

"Is there something amusing you wish to... share?"

She opened her eyes.

"Or perhaps," his voice dropped to an enveloping murmur, "something more serious?"

Neither moved, the only sound the fire in the other room.

Finally, she spoke. "Both, it seems."

He waited.

Her eyes not leaving his, she reached out and ran a finger up his coat buttons. _Soft._ "Which button first, Severus?" She smiled wistfully. "There are so many. This one?" She slid her finger down a few. "Or… this one?" She glanced up at him.

He was still watching her face. 

"Or…" Her finger reached the button at his waist. "This one?"

His eyes dropped to her finger.

They both thought, _Please._

As her finger traced the outline of the button, she pressed her other hand gently on his face, lightly brushing it down his neck, smoothing it with firmer pressure down his chest, under his cloak, to his hip.

For one breathless heartbeat, neither moved.

He spoke roughly, "What game are you playing, Hermione?"

She smiled up at him and slowly closed her fingers around her wand, drawing it out of his pocket. "Which one? There are so many."

A low, throaty chuckle. "Forgive me, but -" One hand closed around her wand hand, splinters scratching her skin, digging further into his. "If you turn me in, I will receive the Dementor's Kiss by morning. That is not the only kiss I have dreamed about, Hermione." He gently took her face in his hand, rubbing his thumb along her cheek.

Her breath came faster.

"I won't risk one for the other. No matter how tempting. Give me your wand."

Ignoring the stinging on her hand, nestling her cheek into his palm, she echoed his chuckle. "No."

_Interesting._ "We are at an impasse, it seems."

"Mm, not quite yet, I think." Her eyes twinkled briefly, then darkened. "Which button first, Severus?" She caressed his name with her voice.

He lowered his eyes, entranced.

She brushed her finger back up to the top button. "This one, I think. Best to start at the beginning." Hesitating only for a moment, she opened the button. "But as we don't have a week..."

His eyes fluttered shut.

She ran her fingers along the line where his white linen shirt met his throat. "…we'll have to hit the high points."

A low moan escaped his lips.

Gently she pressed her small hand around his throat. "I am not nearly strong enough to kill you with my bare hands, I know."

"Yes, Hermione," he said, roughly, "you are." His hand memorized the skin of her neck, brushing her earlobe. He ran his hand under her hair. _So warm._ He drew her closer.

"I'm not," she said simply. "I don't know how. And I won't know, unless you teach me."

He breathed into her hair.

She caught her breath. _If he speaks this close to me, I will die. Just. Die. _

"Hermione," he murmured.

_Now I believe we are at an impasse._ She closed her eyes and concentrated, poured everything she was feeling into her wand.

It glowed blue, and an otter the color of winter starlight shot out of it and bounded up Severus Snape's sleeve to sit on his shoulder.

He suddenly heard her voice in his mind, saying, _"You can trust me. You don't have to – it's your choice – but you can."_

He drew back, hissing, only to see the otter scamper to Hermione's shoulder to peek at him through her hair.

He reached for his heart, but Hermione curled her hand around his.

"Shhhh. I'm sorry." She spoke softly, but quickly. "You know a Patronus can't lie, Severus." She cocked her head slightly. "Although I do believe you frightened him a little. You sometimes have that effect."

"Your Patronus is an otter!"

"Then again he might just be playing. It's difficult to tell for sure." 

He released her wand hand.

She pocketed her wand, wincing a little when one of the splinters in her palm rubbed against the edge of her pocket. "I'm sorry for that, what I did just now... If it hurt you. If I hurt you. Your feelings, I mean… 

"Hermione."

"I don't know... I'm no good at this, really, and... I was just going on instinct, basing my actions on..." she drew a deep breath, "what your reactions seemed to be. You _can_ trust me. _I_ know that. But to tell you, for you to believe me, I had to hurt you. Risk hurting you, anyway."

"Hermione," he repeated.

"In a way it's a compliment. More than just in a way – I mean – I really do pay attention."

"Hermione!"

"And I had to get my wa-" she faltered.

"A Patronus can't lie."

Her cheeks flushed.

"Your message _was_ that I could trust you, was it not?" He arched his eyebrow.

"But wh- Oh." She blushed furiously. "OH. Then you... you know that it's true, then. What I was doing. Oh. Well." She squared her shoulders. "Yes."

Chuckling, he said, "The best lies are always based in truth."

She blushed harder, but flashed him a challenge. "Well?"

Her Patronus looked at Severus and scampered to the floor.

Strong hands grasped her shoulders, pulling her close. He wrapped her in his cloak, nestling his cheek in her hair. "Brilliant," he murmured, into her ear.

She sighed.

He moved his mouth a little closer to her ear, lowering his voice. "But -" he breathed.

Her hands tightened on his waist.

He inhaled sharply.

She turned her head and brushed her lips softly, swiftly, against his. "Scary?" she asked.

He growled, "Terrifying."

Her Patronus glowed brighter until, finally, the spell faded.


	5. Blood Magic

A/N: I claim responsibility for this one. graceful bow in appreciation to Anastasia for her sharp eyes and well-tuned ear.

* * *

**Blood Magic**

_... finally, the spell faded._

Severus scowled at the table as Hermione heated the water. The angle of the lamplight illuminated letters scratched into the surface of the heavy wooden table. Reading "Professor Snape Loves Kreacher," complete with a crudely drawn animated cartoon illustration, signed "R.W.," had a certain predictable effect on his mood. He levitated the lamp and moved it back and forth, scanning the table top. _Ah._ He moved to read. "The Daily Snitch Headline: Snape Gets Laid. (Rita the Beetle, Staff Journalist). Readers, today we have proof that miracles _do_ happen..." signed "F.W." He waved his wand, and the lamp drifted farther down the table. Another glint caught his eye. No words, just an illustration. The night on the Tower, rendered in meticulous, almost loving detail. The carving flashed green. And flashed again. And again. All the while, cartoon-Snape laughed. Deep, angry gouges across this one. He sent the lamp flying into the stone wall.

"_Reparo_," Hermione said, bringing two mugs to the table. The lamp glowed back to life on the floor.

Severus slumped over his forearms, encircling something – she couldn't see what - on the table top. Only an occasional reflected flicker from the lamplight glowing beneath him indicated that his eyes were still open. He stared into his hands, his breathing rapid. "Hermione."

She sat across the table from him, pushing a mug toward him and waited for him to continue.

He looked at her, his expression naked.

_Fear? Him!_ "Tell me."

He pushed away from the table abruptly, gesturing toward the grafitti, and stalked to the window, arms folded, blinking. He stared, unseeing, at the dark window glass.

She sighed. "Harry." He heard her put her mug down and walk toward him. She simply stood with him, not touching him, not speaking. His dim reflection in the window wavered and blurred as the mist rose outside.

In an instant his empty, haunted look was replaced by a blackness so complete she recoiled. He threw them both to the floor and rolled under the table, extinguishing the light as he did so. In the softest of whispers, he said "Legilimens," and his voice was in her mind.

"Dementors. Don't move."

She had no idea if he could hear words mentally spoken or if he just picked up images, or both, so she concentrated on an image of herself lying still, then on opening her hands and asking "The Secret?"

Again, the voice in her mind. _"I don't know, Hermione. And I can hear words."_

_"If the Secret holds, are we safe?"_

_"Yes."_

_"If it doesn't, will hiding under the table accomplish anything?"_

_"Probably not. Dementors don't always work unaccompanied, and other things have eyes."_

_"Do you feel anything?"_

A projection of startled confusion.

_"I mean,"_ she thought at him, _"your Charm. It's attuned to the wards generally, not only Apparition, right?"_

_"I cannot hear anything with you chattering. Be still."_

Her eyes widened in the darkness.

_"I felt that,"_ he grumbled in her mind, after a moment.

_"Felt what?"_

_"Your eyes widen. I told you not to move."_

_"How did you -"_

_"Eyelashes, Hermione. They're rather distracting."_

_"Dementors, Severus. They're more so."_

_"Stay still."_

Several minutes passed in silence. After the first panicked moments, Hermione found herself drifting into pure sensation. The scent of him. The softness of his clothes. And the weight of his body, his legs, and the almost pain of his hipbone pressed into her thigh. His arm, still wrapped around her awkwardly, lying as they had landed, his hand pressing her head toward his chest, holding it off the floor. She would have bruises, she was sure. She was equally sure she did not care.

Minutes passed, stretching into undifferentiated time. She drifted from sensation to memory to fantasy. So many buttons...

_"Hermione."_ Even in her mind he sounded strangled. _"I'm still in here."_

Mentally, she smiled and thought about stretching like a cat.

_"Are we safe yet?"_

_"... I believe the Secret holds."_

She laughed mentally.

_"I would prefer that you not do that."_

_"Laugh?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Why!"_

Nothing for a moment, then, _"It tickles."_

_"You didn't say we were safe. Shall I stop chattering?"_

_"We seem to be in no danger from the outside."_

She laughed mentally again.

_"Stop that."_

_"I've never seen you laugh. I may never see you laugh. For all I know, you don't laugh. I want to feel you laughing inside my head. Severus, please."_

His body froze, and she tensed. 

_"Dementors?"_ she asked after a moment.

_"Of a sort. No, not that kind."_

He started to move away, to stand, but she held him. _"No. Tell me. This way."_

_"No."_

Obliviate_ me afterwards if you want. But please, don't make me read any more of your silences tonight. It may be all we -"_

_"I,"_ he corrected her.

_"WE,"_ she insisted, _"have. Severus, please,"_ she asked again. _"What do I need to know?"_

A moment's hesitation, and it began.

Her mind was flooded with images...

A fist. A woman screaming. A younger Severus, eyes already deadened, in the Potions lab. Slightly older, seeing a young woman with red hair, smiling, concentrating on her cauldron in a classroom. Older still, seeing her smile turning to him. A flash of time – short – she wasn't sure how short – seeing that smile turning to... who? _Harry!_ A storm... a werewolf...

Darkness. Searing pain. Robed figures. A cave, a green glow... Images too fast for focus. Stairs, crouching, "...seventh month dies."

Flashes again. Blue eyes, kind but stern, over half-moon glasses.

Then the images split, two sets flashing simultaneously. Dark blurs on one side, brief occasional flashes of something lighter on the other: A boat... _Sirius?_ More green glow...

A slow focus on the Dark Mark - on the lighter side? A change in angle, three shooting flames around his wrist. A fading light... A bright green flash…

Grey, nothing but grey, images repeating...

Then a grey Sorting... grey Harry, green eyes... Darkness deepening on one side, more grey on the other... Grey Harry, on his old broom. Grey Sirius, ugly, laughing. A werewolf. Dumbledore's hand, a potion, Fawkes, more Darkness, Red flames on his wrist...

_"I saw that already..."_

Wand forgotten, his hands gripped her head, tightly, desperately. She gasped, and focused again, her heart racing. Now even the grey disappearing... All Darkness, then single flashes, of Draco, Harry, Professor Flitwick, stairs, stars, and then –

Time stopped, and she felt his soul shatter as he loosed the spell.

Then blurs: Draco, bleeding, grey, dark, a pinprick of light, a light on her throat, his shoulder _Blood?_ A pinprick, protection, admiration, retribution, her smile, doubt, her Patronus, blazing, blazing light, then -

All light.

All fear.

Then nothing.

Inside her burning mind, the pieces of Severus Snape's soul howled a confession the world would never hear.

Hermione held him as she wept. He caught her tears, closed his hand, and opened it. Seven black pearls lay in a perfect ring. Unbuttoning a single button on her blouse, he placed them on her chest, over her heart. He pressed them into her skin. 

Hermione screamed.


	6. Blood Magic II

_A/N: As always, a special thanks to: Luna305 (welcome back) and Melenka, my stalwart betas, and to Anastasia and Wandlimb for writing advice and encouragement._

**Blood Magic (II)**

_Inside her burning mind, the pieces of Severus Snape's soul howled a confession the world would never hear. _

…He pressed them into her skin.

Hermione screamed.

---------------------------

Her scream echoing in his mind, Severus collapsed, chest heaving, spent.

_What have I done!_

She stirred.

_I'm crushing her. _He rolled onto his back, holding her, but drawing out of her mind.

_"Don't go…" _Her thought sounded almost sleepy.

_"Only for now," _he told her. Privately, he thought it unwise to be inside her mind when she returned to full awareness.

Hermione felt a mental caress, and the voice in her mind was gone. Softness against her cheek, his strong arm holding her protectively, possessively… but something had changed.

She blinked, trying to focus her thoughts. Her mental vision split into two screens, and reformed, as the images she'd received in a rush played more slowly, in reverse… Not Sirius…Regulus? … the split resolves… James… "Who- oh, no…" … and finally a slow motion flash of pain, a breaking bone, a fist her whole field of vision, growing smaller, and smaller, the vision fading as she heard her own voice saying "…please."

"Severus…" she whispered, horrified, "… what have we done?" She raised her head slightly, and the darkness spun around her.

She jerked away from him, scrambling out from underneath the table. "Light," she choked, struggling to get to her feet. "I need light."

The lamp flared to life as she lurched, stumbling, out of the room.

Denying the self-restraint that had kept him alive for seventeen years, he ran after her.

She was halfway up the stairs before she collapsed, vomiting, tears forced out of her eyes. Her hair being gathered behind her. She arched again, choking. A scalding hand on her face; inarticulate words, soothing her, grounding her. Weakly, she pushed his hands away, focusing on breathing. "Don't touch me."

_Evanesco_, he thought, watching. Waiting.

Finally, she spoke. "I don't understand everything I saw, but I felt it. What was it?"

His face was still, guarded.

"You were powerless, of course, I felt that too, but there was something worse – something consistent. Everything pointed to the same thing."

She glared at him accusingly. "The web. You, in the middle. Protection."

He couldn't deny it.

"Was that blood magic, then? It certainly felt… old."

"To spontaneously activate blood magic, three conditions must be met," he began, leaning against the wall, as though reciting from a book only he could see. "Passion, desperation, and sacrifice." He refused to look at her.

"Passion," she repeated. "Yes, well," she continued briskly, "of course. You knew that already."

Brushing his hand across his chest, he murmured, "Mine, Hermione."

"Oh." The darkness seemed lighter. She reached for the banister and stood, stepping down a stair.

He closed his eyes against the hope in her voice. He knew the whole of it, and what came next.

"I-"

His tone quiet, almost flat, he interrupted. "Don't, Hermione. Blood magic deals with elemental emotions. Real passion is not the pretty thing you imagine it to be."

"Severus," a note of steel entered her voice. "What happened in the kitchen was not 'pretty.' Or did you perhaps," and a hint of acid, "miss the metaphor?"

"Most assuredly, I did not." He opened his eyes a fraction.

Silhouetted against the dim glow of the lamp from the kitchen, she was dark fire, outlined in light.

His voice a sharpening, unrelenting edge, he asked, "But which event were you speaking of? When I pressed you against the wall and closed my hand around your throat? Did part of you want to die? When I comforted you afterwards, tracing the symbols of my knowledge on your forehead, did you want to stay there forever? Or when I invaded your mind, brutally taking your innocence, gripping your head in my hands, covering you with my body, pinning you to a dirty floor, filling you with the forbidden knowledge that you had been asking, begging me to teach you? Did you find it thrilling, Miss Granger?"

A harsh silence echoed in the stairwell.

Her eyes narrowed. "You don't believe it was blood magic, do you."

He closed his eyes. "We share no blood. It can't have been."

"Light your wand, Severus."

He gave it an irritable twitch, and it glowed.

"Open your eyes." She held up her hand, and he saw the scratches and splinters embedded there. "I saw the wood in library." She touched his cloak, where the blood had stiffened. "The wound from protecting me from your curse, the wound you ignored while you got my hair out of my eyes. The wood. It was covered in your blood."

He exhaled softly.

"I don't understand blood magic, but I do understand you, a little, after what happened. And I have been watching you for a long time. Nothing less than a force of nature could make you lose control." She touched his elbow briefly, reaching up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I don't hate you." She turned and walked downstairs.

The air seemed cooler where her lips had been.

He had no way of knowing exactly what had just happened, but he had a good general idea. Blood magic governed three things - creation, protection, and destruction - always in combination.

He wondered which combination this would prove to be.

She stood by the fire in the library, twisting her hair into a loose knot, appreciating the warmth of the flames after… well, after everything.

"Brandy?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you."

He summoned two snifters, and she took a sip. Better.

He sat, warming his drink in his hand.

After a moment, she said quietly, "I can't believe you survived."

His lips twitched. "I believe I answered that question before. I had no choice."

"Yes, I can see that now. There are one or two things I saw that I still don't understand, however."

_"One or two"? _He gestured for her to ask.

_That's new. __Take advantage while it lasts, Granger. _

"The other man in the boat with you. Regulus Black?"

He nodded.

"He was underage?"

He hesitated. "Potter reported Dumbledore's theory, then, about the boat?"

It was her turn to nod, and his estimation of Potter rose slightly. If the boy had managed to remember that detail after that night, it would be the first good news he'd had since… He looked at Hermione. _Interesting. _

"Was he… I'm sorry, Severus. Was he your friend?"

"Black? No. But we were allies, briefly."

Searching his face for signs of concealment, she found none. _I must be dreaming. _"All right, then. That settles R.A.B." She glanced toward the kitchen. She'd had no opportunity to check Kreacher's nest yet. She frowned and looked at her watch. _9:30? Feels more like a month._

"I believe you said were looking for something," he began, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a heavy gold pendant.

She drew a sharp breath. "Slytherin's locket."

He nodded.

She watched it dangle from his fingers, spinning slowly at the end of the chain. Her skin crawled. "It looks so harmless."

He said nothing.

Her eyes blazed. "One of my friends will have to die. For _that._" She snarled the last word, and turned her back on it, facing the fire. She stared at the flames, blinking rapidly.

He gave her a moment, watching the locket as it spun slowly.

"Put it away, please," she said finally.

He set his brandy down and joined her by the fire, reaching for her hand to give her the Horcrux.

She closed her hand. "No."

"Hermione, you must. If I am summoned by the Dark Lord…"

"And you've left it in your pocket for how long!" she asked, clenching her hand.

"A few hours. Since right before you arrived."

"Hm," she sniffed disapprovingly.

_She sounds like Minerva._

"How did you know where it was?"

"Mundungus Fletcher is incapable of complete discretion, Hermione, and had he found this, I would have heard… something. Dumbledore told me of his thievery, so I put feelers out in Knockturn Alley, 'listening,' - "

"Spying, you mean," she said, pointedly.

He glowered. "Hearing nothing, for months, I deduced that it might still be here, in this house. I'd been looking for it." His mouth twitched. "I've had very little to do, after all… and your house-elf liberation front…" He shrugged.

Firmly ignoring her reflexive irritation in favor of latching onto the far more interesting fact that he'd been thinking about her, she concluded, "So you didn't Disapparate when the wards shifted."

"I had to give it to the next member of the Order to appear, no matter who it was, but I had no intention of dying in the process. If I could avoid it."

"So you readied a curse."

He nodded.

"Did you have to strangle me?"

"Even my restraint has its limits, and had you moved…"

She snorted. "Harm to protect."

He hesitated, "For what it's worth, I'm sor -…"

She held up her hand, "No, don't. Really, it's not necessary."

"But this is."

He drew her hand up, and she opened her fingers. The chain caught the firelight, sparkling as it coiled into her hand.

She shuddered and shoved the locket firmly into her pocket. "Okay. How very… strange," she breathed. "I have a piece of Voldemort's soul in my pocket."

He cocked his head to the side, assessing her. "Extraordinary."

"Relatively speaking, not at all. Having a piece of someone's soul in your pocket should be extraordinary, yet it isn't, given that I seem to have _all _of yours as a tattoo."

He levitated his brandy to his hand.

"Considering everything else that's happened this evening, even finding the locket seems almost mundane. And that's just… wrong." She shuddered again. As if to herself, she added, "But it fits the equation, somehow." She turned back to him, drawing herself to full height. "So. If you would, please, clarify something else for me?"

He met her eyes.

"Did you, or did you not, make me your Horcrux?" Her voice was steady, her eyes calm as she waited for his answer.

Respect flared in his eyes. "No, Hermione. Even were it possible… No."

She exhaled a shaky breath, "Oh… that's good."

His mouth twitched. "Indeed."

Whenever blood magic had touched him – and it had, too frequently for his comfort – it seemed to take perverse delight in making his life more difficult.

Dumbledore had always told him this was its gift.

He preferred to call it chaos. And at this moment, chaos was sitting before him with unfocused eyes, arranging and rearranging pieces of the puzzle that would eventually decide the fate of their world.

She only had a few of them.

His heart warmed, and his hands stayed perfectly still.


	7. Bewitching the Mind

A/N: As always, thanks to Luna305, my extraordinarily perceptive and forgiving beta. Special thanks to Potion Mistress and Anastasia for their support, encouragement, and suggestions during the writing of this chapter.

Note to Readers: We spend most of this chapter in Hermione's mind - fasten your seatbelts. (Ever wonder how Arithmancy works?) When this little trip is over we will return once again to a more usual narrative style.

* * *

**Bewitching the Mind**

_And at this moment, chaos was standing before him with unfocused eyes, arranging and rearranging pieces of the puzzle that would eventually decide the fate of their world. _

And she only had a few of them.

The lump in her pocket was a far weightier matter than the one in her throat, but at that moment, Hermione might have argued differently. She had a lifetime of Severus' memories to sort out, and one night in which to do it.

_When in doubt, Granger, trust Dumbledore._

Seven phoenix tears, the "tell"… Surely someone was supposed to figure this out and tell Harry, and whose job has that always been?

_Severus' soul was cracking before he ever came to Hogwarts._

She swirled her brandy, watching the firelight refract within it and reform, ever-changing. Chaos, indeed… but sometimes things that are chaotic can be beautiful.

_What had held it together?_

She swirled her brandy some more, frowning, making lists and rejecting them; arranging equations, transposing them, rejecting those as well. Her brow furrowed as she stared darkly into the snifter, ceasing its motion until the liquid calmed.

_What happened when it shattered?_

Then she swirled it again, in the opposite direction.

Sitting before the fire, Severus watched her thoughts and judgments flicker across her face in counterpoint to the flames. He was relieved that her attention was absorbed in something else for a while. It was the calm before the storm, and he planned to spend it watching her. He recognized her focus, if not her method. _Or do I? _

So much to tell her, and so little time to do it in, but he was patient enough, for now. She had to take the first steps on her own.

_The first time is the worst, Hermione, until it's not._

His awareness of time passing had nothing to do with the young woman who had just paused and frowned again.

Nothing whatsoever.

_Ok, Granger. Logic. Your greatest asset._ A brief smile crossed on her face. _One of them. _

Concentrating again on the bowl of the snifter, she swirled it more slowly.

_Seven Horcruxes, seven tears... and seven damaging blows to his soul. _

Right, then.

"_Accio quill._ _Accio parchment._ _Accio lamp_," she muttered rapidly, the three incantations unifying into one as the required objects flowed toward her. She caught them with the fluidity of long habit, moving to the table at the far end of the room.

Aligning the parchment at the precise angle she preferred, awareness of the room fading, she got to work. She sucked the end of her quill briefly; then, at the top of the page, she wrote, "Voldemort" and "Severus."

She took a deep breath and began writing in earnest, almost instantly falling into her study trance. Eventually she started muttering to herself.

Severus moved quietly to a closer chair, eyes lingering on the angle of her head as she bent toward her work, on her hand sweeping the parchment.

"Okay. First Horcrux." She sketched an outline of the problem, writing rapidly. "The diary, written while he was still at school, still a child...

"Two deaths – well, one and a half; Moaning Myrtle and, almost, Ginny."

She paused.

"Harry, protector, honor... Innocent Love."

Right.

She wrote some more. "Diary - (Memo: Basilisk gaze corruption? Research – Muggle Studies?)"

The tiniest of smiles – more a tightening of her lips.

Now for Severus' memories. Let's see how this plays out.

"The fist," she wrote, thinking, _…more buttons than… Oh. Oh, dear. That's frightfully simple._

Still writing, "Passion, desperation, sacrifice… Childhood." She underscored this word heavily and circled it, before continuing, "Couldn't protect mother – tried – beaten badly."

She raised her head in thought for a moment, then wrote, "Innocence lost early; inadequacy (?) in the face of a father who was inadequate himself."

Another pause, then she added, "Father broke nose. Blood." The last word underscored twice. She scowled. _The bastard._

"Notes," she commanded, and another piece of parchment flew to join its mate in front of her.

"Mother a witch, father a Muggle. Different power ratio, though… Okay, try a reverse relationship…"

Time for Arithmancy. _Accio new parchment_. A third piece landed in front of her. She covered the page with symbols, a formula taking shape as her hand moved almost automatically over the page.

Unconsciously, she started twisting her hair around her finger, writing quickly, fashioning these new figures to work within the Arithmantic formula she'd been working on all summer.

Severus leaned slightly closer, watching as her hand moved more quickly, her thoughts faster now, each one bringing some new posture, a different rhythm to her breathing - his own breath coming faster in response.

Finally, she grimaced at the piece of paper and cleared it with an impatient wave. _No. Not the reverse of Voldemort… not quite… hm… 'inverse,' maybe?_

She wrote, "Voldemort: 1/7" and "Severus: 7/1 (?)" and her hand froze mid-air.

Severus was holding the snifter to his lips, but lowered it when he saw her sudden stillness. Holding his breath, he leaned closer, his usually tense shoulders relaxing a fraction. _Yes, Hermione… That's it…_

She sat back for a moment, possibilities realigning and forming new shapes in her mind.

_Slowly… slowly…. Yes, like that…_

She reviewed her latest insight and nodded to herself. _Feels right._ Okay, then. Test it one step further; find out where it breaks.

Substitute "anti-Voldemort" for "inverse"? Since Dumbledore died, the active "anti-" function in the formula had belonged solely to Harry's. A good test, then.

Two more variables: Voldemort: 0 and Severus: 1.

The formulae broke almost instantly. The lines on the parchment flowed into Severus' face, frowning at her.

She grinned. "Didn't think so…"

Severus tilted his head for a better look at what she was writing. Seeing his own face, he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

The lines reformed. She scratched out "anti-Voldemort" and made a note in the margin – "too far." For the next several minutes, she covered the page in Arithmantic symbols, then sat back to watch the formulas swirled and finally settled, stable on the page.

Re-reading her work, satisfied, she summarized the first page:

"Diary, Fist: Childhood. Innocent Love, Innocence Lost. Young Ginny, young Severus, both scarred (!), only one was protected."

She picked up her snifter, not taking her eyes off of her notes even as she sipped, thinking. _Okay. Severus the inverse of Voldemort; seven pieces of a soul in one body, versus seven "bodies" containing the pieces…_

She drew a breath and released it, clearing her mind. The larger problem didn't balance yet, but she was making progress.

Severus raised his glass slightly, then sipped his brandy. _One down._

Summoning another piece of parchment, she went back to writing.

"Second Horcrux. Ring; created when he killed his family." More. "Killed his father, grandfather…" She frowned. "Killing the father" had rung a bell.

_Something from Muggle Studies… Right, that daft old bugger with a cigar._ She sniffed, disdainfully.

Ok. Fathers.

She turned her thoughts to Severus. Families, fathers…

She leaned back, lost in thought, toying absently with her quill.

Severus knew where the next bit of logic would take her, and he steeled himself.

A sudden gleam of inspiration lit in her eye, and she resumed writing.

_Obviously._ Taking the Dark Mark (underlined). Power (underlined twice). Powerless as a child, eyes dead, the first crack in your soul long before you arrived for your Sorting…

Sorting, Slytherin… Desire for power… that works… Ambition?

She shook her head. Not in the traditional sense, no… More like… restitution? She thought, tapping her quill on the page. A drop of ink landed on her face, just beneath her eye. Lost in thought, she barely noticed.

Severus fought the urge to brush it away. He scowled, stood, and went to the fire, standing with his back to her, his shoulders rigid.

She sighed. Not very logical, bonding yourself to subservience out of a desire for power… but firmly within the parameters of the kinds of things boys do. _Just like Harry and Ron are about Quidditch. _

She shook her head. _Strange analogy, Granger._

Still. Same flaw, smaller stakes.

She heard the boys' voices in her mind as she continued writing.

_"It's about the challenge." _

"It's about winning."

"It's about beating Slytherin, especially Draco Malfoy."

It's about the challenge; it's about winning; it's about beating the Marauders, especially James Potter.

Bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death.

Dumbledore. _Who was like a father to him. And "the child is the father to the man." _

Tom Riddle, Voldemort. Severus, the Death Eater… and James, of course.

James.

She stopped writing.

Head turned resolutely away, Severus heard her quill stop and frowned. She'd have this one soon. His nerves stretched in the silence. Then he heard her start writing again, the scratching more urgent.

Shoving himself away from the mantle, he paced the far end of the room, eyeing the books on their shelves with a malice so hot some of them actually started to smoke.

She wrote frantically, the equations harsher, almost sharp, scrambling, scribbling themselves out in inky explosions almost as fast as she could start them. Finally, one, darker than the rest, stayed stable.

_I see._ Her eyes narrowed.

James Potter is part of why he took the Dark Mark?

Adding the "Father" aspect to the equation, she tried it again, knowing what she would find.

The equation shifted once, then was stable. Ugly, and very, very stable.

Poor Harry.

Poor Severus.

At the other end of the room, Severus clenched his hands. His snifter shattered, glass embedding in his hands, brandy stinging into small cuts as it flowed down his arms.

She reflexively shot him the same look she used to silence First Years who hadn't yet learned not to play Exploding Snap while she was studying.

He flinched, as did several books on the nearby shelves, hiding his hand from her view.

Her expression softened in understanding.

_That's two._

She turned back to her notes and examined them.

The larger equation still didn't balance. No, Severus' desire for power wasn't pure ambition; it started with his mother. It was born of desperation, of desire.

She focused herself sternly. _Follow your formula, Granger._

New parchment.

She swallowed nervously – a soul, even a piece of one, really was a strange thing to have in her pocket.

_Focus, Granger._ She bent to write.

Third Horcrux: Slytherin's locket – belonged to Voldemort's mother. _Protection?_

She twisted that symbol around until it cleared. _Ah, ok._ She'd failed to protect herself from death; by dying, failed to protect him. Harry had said Voldemort had hated her for it. Hm.

Ok. "Mothers."

Severus summoned a glass of firewhiskey. A large one.

She added it to the formula and the equations took on a faint red tinge.

Old magic, then? "1. Passion (Merope). 2. Desperation (sold locket). 3. Sacrifice (Merope), and blood (childbirth)."

Switching her thoughts to Severus now, sifting the various images she'd received from him…

His mother, screaming?

She worked a few equations. They all blurred and faded. _No! Then… Who?_

She sighed, twisted her neck to get a kink out, and rubbed one of her shoulders. She reviewed the images again, playing them forward, slowly, until she paused on the young woman with red hair. Smiling. At him.

_Oh. I don't like this. _

Severus was leaning on the bookshelves, eyes closed. He listened, waiting, turning the glass slowly in his hands. One of the books nudged him. He opened his eyes.

_I don't like this one bit. _

Biting her lip, she worked one new symbol into the formula. It glowed faintly gold. She connected two symbols, one symbol changed. She connected another, and all of them did.

_How awful. _

She exhaled softly. _Yet how very logical. I can't believe I didn't see it before._

She put down her quill. This was going to be much more complicated than she thought. She knew she'd found one of the questions she needed to ask him, but she was going to have to word this one very, very carefully.

He'd probably hex her into next week anyway.

"Severus?"

One of the books nudged his shoulder. He opened his eyes, and forced himself into the middle of the room. "Yes?"

Softly, she asked, "What were the symbols you traced on my forehead?"

He looked at her, startled. That was not the question he'd been expecting.

/x/

The mind itself, being infinite, is the largest erogenous zone that humans possess.

The most sensitive.

And the most difficult to touch.

Hermione Granger had taken up permanent residence in his, and was even now deciding where to put her book collection.

* * *

A/N on their backstory:

They've been watching each other for years - he waiting to see how her initial promise develops, she fascinated and inspired (and a little scared of him) - but this is the first time they've ever been alone. Who he is in front of an audience is different from how he is when no one's watching, especially now that his life's gotten simpler (as he says in Chapter 2). Some of their backstory - there really isn't much; she was his student, after all - will get picked up, but mostly the focus is on the here and now and what will happen in the near future, both with their chemistry and the problems facing them.


	8. Among the Lilies

A/N: The seeds of this chapter were sown during a discussion with Luna305 and Bathilda one weekend last summer. Thanks to Luna for the lightning-fast beta, and to Anastasia for inspiration.

Note to Readers: Thank you for flying Air Hermione. The seat belt sign has been turned off.

* * *

**Among the Lilies**

_Softly, she asked, "What were the symbols you traced on my forehead?" _

He looked at her, startled. That was not the question he'd been expecting.

----------------------------

Hermione looked at him expectantly.

Severus hesitated.

Still softly, but more firmly, she insisted. "You're going to have to tell me. I can't work this any further without them, you know. And after all this," she gestured toward her notes, "I'm a little fried."

He nodded once and, keeping his hand hidden within his cloak, turned to the bookshelf, reaching for the book that had nudged him earlier. Its cover was well-worn, and he rubbed his thumb along the spine tenderly, his touch lingering, almost as if he were saying goodbye.

Enchanted by the way he was holding the book, Hermione smiled tiredly.

He sat on a small loveseat by the bookshelves, lighting a nearby lamp. It glowed, softly pink, in the dark corner. He gestured for her to join him.

Hermione stood and stretched, arching her back like a cat. Her brain hurt, but she was used to that. She welcomed the familiar feeling, a touchstone in what had been, thus far, the most frightening, most exhilarating few hours of her life.

Summoning more brandy, she sat down and waited.

He held the book almost reverently; thumb rubbing a worn, frayed corner.

_He loves that book,_ Hermione thought absently, leaning into the corner of the loveseat, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear, watching him.

Wordlessly, almost apologetically, he held it out to her.

"Wait - you're bleeding." She reached for her wand.

"Leave it, Hermione." Something in his eyes spoke of his need for her not to push him on this.

That gave her pause. "Are you sure?" she gestured toward the book.

"Take it. Please."

Taking the book, her fingers brushed his, driving one of the shards of glass in a little deeper.

A smear of blood over the title, _World Mythology._

She looked up. He gestured back toward the book and, drawing a deep breath, she opened it.

There was an inscription. She wasn't sure she was should read it. She glanced at him.

He closed his eyes and looked away, but nodded.

"All ceased, and I abandoned myself,  
leaving my cares forgotten.

Always,

Lily

P.S. I'm a dreadful poet, I know, but that popped into my head yesterday during Binns' lesson when I was thinking about Saturday. Shameful of me, wasn't it?"

Below the postscript, there was a drawing of a witch and wizard watching a cauldron. As they watched, characteristic spirals of smoke rose slowly from the surface. The witch and wizard looked at each other and smiled.

"P.P.S. I can't draw, either."

For once in her life, Hermione had absolutely no idea what to say.

He spoke in a strangled voice, "She -" He couldn't finish. He started again. "I was reading it when Professor Flitwick came to my office."

She nodded, blinking.

"I read it often, that last year. The… inscription."

She blinked again, her vision blurring.

"I- ah." Collecting himself, he tried again. "I always had it with me, just in case." He looked toward the shadowy ceiling, eyes bright.

She did not want to be looking at Harry's mother's handwriting. She didn't dare look anywhere else.

"You'll find the symbols on page 394."

Brushing her eyes with the back of her hand, she nodded, relieved that he had removed the burden of staring at those terrible words.

"Osiris, Isis and Horus. _see also_ Set. _x-reference_ Anubis; later, Hermanubis (Greek: Hermes)."

Symbols for each were illustrated below. She looked up, questioning.

He nodded sadly.

She closed the book. "I-" she ventured, holding it out to him.

Abruptly he stood up and swept away from the loveseat, coming to light, finally, by the door. Without turning around, he said harshly, "You _will_ wish to read it." His voice was almost toxic. The voice she remembered from her first days at Hogwarts.

"I don't need to. I- " she paused and glanced around the room. "I… um… " she faltered. She wasn't at all sure how to keep the next words from suggesting more than she intended.

Although he did not move, something of the edge went out of his posture. "You have a copy of your own."

She nodded.

He turned and leaned wearily against the door frame. "Of course you do."

A question threatened, finally, to tumble out of her mouth. She clamped her lips firmly shut.

Some of the weariness left Severus' face as he noticed her expression. He'd seen it countless times; it was the expression she got just before her hand shot into the air.

"Ask your question, Hermione."

"Your patronus. It isn't… is it by any chance a jackal?"

She saw the answer in his eyes before he spoke. "Yes."

"It… it changed, didn't it." She held herself very still.

His eyes glinted dangerously. He didn't answer. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly.

She froze.

A voice in her head screamed, _"Move! Now!"_

Using reflexes she hadn't known she possessed, she threw herself off the loveseat and rolled sideways, getting distance and furniture between herself and where she'd been sitting. She ended face down under a sofa, covering her head with one arm, clenching the book with the other, protecting it with her body.

With a roar, he hexed the loveseat into oblivion. Wood, metal, and scorched fabric flew through the air, and flaming stuffing settled everywhere, coating that end of the room in a wintery white.

In the terrible silence that followed, Hermione, heart pounding, was pointlessly reminded of the snow globe she'd had as a child. The flaming bits of stuffing sparked and went out.

A corner of Lily's book pressed into her face. It rubbed her cheek consolingly, exactly as if it were saying, "I understand."

* * *

Sources: 

_World Mythology_ is one of the books on the bookshelves on JKR's website. It doesn't open. Hm...

Lily's inscription is from a poem by St. John of the Cross, based on the Song of Solomon. The line actually ends "leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies."

Oh, and the legend of Isis and Osiris is worth reading...


	9. Innocence

A/N: Thanks as always to Luna305 for beta and narrative logic assistance, and Anastasia for logistical advice. ;)

* * *

**Innocence**

_A corner of Lily's book pressed into her face. It rubbed her cheek consolingly, exactly as if it were saying "I understand."_

-------------------------

Severus dropped his wand arm and breathed heavily, as wisps of smoke rose from the bits of stuffing that were still drifting on the floor.

Still clutching the book protectively, Hermione rolled over, and, keeping the couch between her and Severus, drew out her wand. She stood, pointing it at him.

"I'm-" he started.

"No."

"But-"

In a glacial voice, she announced, "Enough. Get out." With a furious flick of her wand, she reassembled the loveseat. It looked slightly lumpier than before. She heard Severus stalk away.

She turned to the book. "What happened?" she demanded, then sighed. "No, I don't suppose you can tell me."

The book rubbed against her hand, but its cover stayed shut, and no pages rippled open to answer her.

She snorted. "Something else I get to drag out of Tall, Dark, and Brooding." Holding the book rather more gently than her tone would seem to indicate, she ran her free hand through her hair, muttering, "Lovely."

She heard a crash from the kitchen.

"Just lovely." She had been strangled, had her mind invaded, found - or at least been given - the next Horcrux, and performed a feat of Arithmancy complex enough to earn her a master's position at any wizarding school in the world, and nearly had the daylights hexed out of her. Twice.

And she still had questions.

From the sounds of things, the answer to them was violently rearranging the kitchen.

She snorted, and then lay down on the couch, the book on her chest. She was _not_ going in there.

He'd destroyed the sideboard first – ceramic, pottery and silverware flew clanging into the walls, against the ceiling, smashing, clattering, clanging to the floor. The stove caught his eye next, and he drew himself to full height and held a slow-release curse on it, building the pressure on its metal seams, refusing to let them fail completely until he allowed it. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow as the metal groaned and started to buckle. _Now._ The stove exploded with shriek like a Banshee's.

In the library, Hermione looked up and frowned.

Then he spotted the flour barrel. A moment later, a cloud hung in the air, fine powder settling onto everything.

He stood alone in the kitchen, panting.

There were several forks impaled on the ceiling. One gave way and hit his shoulder before falling to the floor. In one fluid motion he had wheeled, pinpointed its location, and released a finely-honed, perfectly proportioned hex at it. It melted.

Eventually, his breathing slowed.

In the library, Hermione was wrestling with a new problem. She had kissed Severus Snape, and he had clearly loved Harry's mother.

_Lily,_ her mind insisted. _Think of her as Lily. The other way lies madness._

_Fine._ Severus had probably kissed Lily too.

She didn't know how she felt about that.

She suspected that was all that had happened.

The book nudged against her hand.

"Cut that out," she snapped at it. Then, "Oh. I'm sorry." _Not its fault._ She peered at it for a moment, then shook her head. Not really its fault at all.

The potion in the drawing – Amortentia, obviously. Too dangerous for inclusion in the general curriculum. Brewed in secret, then – she well knew how possible that was – possibly with Professor Slughorn's tacit knowledge; he was like that – probably just to see if they could. _They were playing with fire…_

In the kitchen, Severus slowly gathered his wits.

Hermione's musing continued. What had they learned, standing by that cauldron, younger than she was now? That what they truly desired most in the world was each other?

_Surely not._ Then, _Get real, Granger. It's not impossible. Lily was a woman, not a saint, and you know how you respond to him._

Shared attraction, certainly. On his side, given his history, probably more. On hers?

The book nestled into her hands. She petted it absentmindedly. It seemed to feel that it was in good hands.

Severus, meanwhile, was repairing the kitchen with the ease of long years spent teaching students who were forever careless with volatile ingredients. A few efficient sweeps of his wand, and he was done. He crossed his arms, nostrils still flaring. He had warned her, at the last second. _A rationalization, Snape!_ His lip curled in self-derision. _Fool._

Something glinted by the hearth. The fork had melted into a perfect circle. He picked it up and turned it over, slowly, in his hands. Simplicity, elegance, perfection. Transformed by violence – his violence, his guilt, his anger – and an immaturity he had not realized he still possessed. _Dangerous. Too dangerous._ An image of her holding his book, unharmed, even as she held him at wand-point. _She protected it._ It must have been instinctive; he'd given her no time to think. He gave himself over briefly to the memory of her touch, their fleeting kiss… over so quickly. So little time. He turned the disc over and over, smoothing his hands over it, and the key of his tension changed. _Or, perhaps, just enough..._

If she didn't kill him.

Odd that she hadn't sought him out. _Or not. _His eyes tightened at all he'd done to her – with and without reason. _The first time is the hardest, yes, but it's almost over._ Then his stomach growled. _Hm._ He pocketed the metal disc.

Hermione was still thinking. She didn't want to know how the details the Severus-Lily-James triangle had played out. Having endured years of Lavender and Parvati's melodramatic accounts of whatever constituted the latest chapter in _Hogwarts: The Hormones_, she imagined that the earlier triangle had probably appeared rather unremarkable, especially with the war against Voldemort at its height. Certainly, at least from the outside, not the stuff of which tragedies are made.

So what had happened? A secret tenderness, a stolen moment on that long ago Saturday. Something "shameless."

She didn't want to know. She really didn't want to know.

Then she realized she didn't need to. If the specifics of what Lily and Severus had done mattered in the grand scheme of things, it would have been among the memories she'd received.

_Oh… Oh, good._ She swallowed. _Good._

Whatever it had been between them, for the young Severus, what had mattered was her smile, and her gift.

Still… "Shameless"?

He had kept the book for…

He had kept it even after…

She sat up suddenly. _She loved him too. His first kiss. His only kiss? Oh, dear gods._ Her thoughts flew to what she'd done to him in the hallway. How she had manipulated him, used him… _He enjoyed it, Granger,_ her logic insisted, but her conscience asked, _How could you?_

For a young Severus Snape, who'd been denied kindness, denied compassion, denied touch unless it brought physical pain, a single kiss could easily have made an impression that had lasted a lifetime. And she, she had replaced that kiss with…

Still holding the book, she flew toward the kitchen.

But in the hallway, she paused. Bound by blood and by something at once complex and very, very simple, to an inscrutable, unpredictable man, some new part of her checked the impulse to burst into the kitchen with a girlish apology.

No, that would not do at all. She took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. Better.

As Hermione reached for the door, she heard Mrs. Black's portrait mutter, "Do try to keep him from destroying anything else."

Startled, Hermione turned and looked at the portrait. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," the portrait said, then added, as an obligatory afterthought, "Mudblood filth."

Not even Mrs. Black's portrait would survive Hermione Granger's fury once and risk it again.

The only one in the who seemed willing to do so looked up at her as she entered the kitchen, and said, "You're late."

Startled, she stepped back automatically, instinctively hiding the book behind her back. Then, feeling foolish, she laughed. "You sound like you're going to deduct House points."

A raised eyebrow. "If it will make you happy, I am willing to indulge you." His tone was light, but she could hear a hesitancy behind it.

She smirked at him, but something in her eyes changed. _Really... Hm..._

"Five points from Gryffindor for… disconcerting facial expressions. 15 for lateness, and a detention. And… yes?"

She was biting the inside of her cheeks, trying not to laugh. If she looked at him, she knew that all of her tension would result in a terribly undignified fit of giggles. _Gods, no._ She looked up.

"… and another 20 for not looking at me when I am speaking to you."

"Oh, forgive me, _Professor_. I was just wondering if those holes in the ceiling were, by any chance, made by forks?" Her eyes sparkled.

They looked at each other.

He continued, softly, "I'm not finished, Hermione."

She nodded.

"For the greatest Arithmantic feat the wizarding world has known since the days of Nicholas Flamel…" he paused.

She wondered if he would give her one point or one hundred. Her brain automatically started figuring the odds.

He reached out and smoothed a strand of hair off of her forehead, his hand coming to rest lightly on her cheek. "… my gratitude."

Her world tilted on its axis. Without taking her eyes from his, she set the book down on the table. With a hint of triumph, she smiled.

Then his eyes did something she'd never seen before. She was dumbfounded. _Severus Snape's eyes do not twinkle. They don't. That's just impossible._

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Given appropriate circumstances and ample motivation, Hermione, who can deny that more may be possible than not?"

"You sound almost like..."

A shadow crossed his face, but he did not move his hand. "He was my professor, too."

She brought her hand up to his – a swift caress.

The stood unmoving for a moment. As they held each other's eyes, what had passed between them that night shifted from the edge of uncertainty to the stability of knowledge.

Understanding would come later, but in this moment, knowledge was enough.

He leaned closer, and murmured, "There is more… much more. Are you ready, Hermione?"

Scarcely daring to breathe, much less speak, she nodded. She laced her hand in his hair _Smooth..._ and pressed her palm to his neck, feeling his skin, warm underneath.

He trailed his hand to his chest, where it lingered at the next button. He watched her, and waited.

Slowly, she reached up and released the button.

And watched, fascinated, as he undid the third on his own.

Lily's book scuttled quietly out of sight.

At that moment, his stomach rumbled. He sighed. _Inconvenient. But necessary… So little time…_ "Are you hungry?"

"I - What?" She swallowed hard, giving her head a small shake. _He cooks? Of course he cooks._ "If I sit, do you promise not to hex my chair out from under me?"

He nodded again and held a chair out for her, the lines around his mouth deepening.

She stared at him. _Is that a smile? No... it can't be..._

It was.


	10. Experience

A/N: My obeisance, as always, to Luna305 (bloody brilliant beta and narrative continuity goddess) and Anastasia, for sending virtual kleenex. Chocolate Frog Snape Cards to both.

* * *

**Experience**

_She stared at him. Is that a smile? No... it can't be..._

It was.

-------------------------

As they finished eating, Hermione decided that a dinner cooked by Severus Snape was a rather acceptable apology for his having blasted the furniture to bits. Regretting what she had to do next, she folded her napkin slowly. "Thank you. That was excellent."

He nodded, but tensed in anticipation of what was coming..

Tilting her head in apologetic acknowledgment, she said, "There's something you're not telling me."

"Many things."

"Something very specific. The symbols, Severus. They make sense, yet they don't. What is it you're not telling me about Lily?"

"You've deduced what happened at Hogwarts, yes?"

She nodded. "Enough of it."

A brief look of relief crossed his face, before it was replaced by something harder.

"You've pieced together what happened, then. Sixth Year."

She nodded.

He held out his hand to her across the table, drawing her gaze to his thumb. A new cut.

_Why hasn't he healed… Oh._ An old scar next to it.

Her eyebrows raised.

_Still some surprises left, then._ "No grand arcane ritual. It was… sentimental. Muggle."

"So she knew. That you're Half-Blood."

"Yes, she knew. She saw my Potions textbook often enough. And she enjoyed puzzles. She hoped I would have the courage to stand up to my Housemates. She believed I would. 'We're strong, Severus. Our blood is strong. I'll prove it to you.' A nick of her dagger, and…'" He looked past her, at the cold hearth behind her. "She was wrong. Not about her strength. About mine."

He was silent for a very long time.

Finally, he said, "Hermione, I assume you are as familiar in my role in the prophecy?"

"As far as I know."

"Very well then." He stood, glancing at the window. Still misty. He frowned. "Somewhere more comfortable, I think." He waved his wand and the dishes cleared themselves.

By tacit agreement, they returned to the library. She started toward the table, but he waved her to a chair. Confused, she sat.

He steepled his fingers and started silently for a few moments.

Feeling time starting to slip, and anxious to conclude her calculations, she finally betrayed her impatience with a shift in her chair.

Sitting straighter, he began. "It is not a matter of not wanting to tell you – you will find, I'm sure, that you already know. No, it is a question of deciding which matter to address first."

She drew her legs up underneath her, settling into the chair, and looked at him expectantly.

"Before I explain the symbols – you will understand them and begin to see their implications before my explanations are finished, I'm sure – " he looked away and muttered something.

"I'm sorry? I didn't hear."

"Could you, perhaps…" He Transfigured his chair so it was slightly wider.

Her eyebrows raised a fraction, then she joined him, a little uncertainly. _Okay. Strange._ He put his arm around her and drew her into the crook of his shoulder. _Maybe not so… mmm… Focus, Granger; this is important._

Touching her seemed to free his voice. "I told you earlier that the power that ultimately took Dumbledore's life was the same power that saved Potter." 

She nodded, "Blood magic." Her eyes widened. "Oh."

"No, that was all Lily. She was a mother then. That changes things." Very softly, he added, "But I was… implicated, regardless. Her passion to save her child. Her desperation. And her sacrifice." He closed his eyes and exhaled. Then he raised his eyes to hers. "As you noted so perceptively, I do not always say exactly what I mean."

Turning slightly, she looked at him questioningly.

"Did you never wonder why Albus trusted me?"

"Honestly? Yes. It was enough for me that he did, but I can't – well – " she gestured toward the table where her papers lay, and shrugged, half apologetically.

"Do not apologize for your curiosity, Hermione. Never. But especially not now." He held her more closely.

Even as she welcomed the protected feeling of his arm settling more solidly around her, it made her worry about what was coming next that made him do it.

"I know he trusted you. He had faith in you. That hasn't been enough for – well, everyone else, not since… But I -" She tilted a chin, a small, fierce movement.

Distracted for a moment, he chuckled. "As you've proven, Hermione. And that's the crux of the matter – proof. Dumbledore did not, as you say, trust me on faith alone. Although it would not have been unlike him to rely entirely on faith in most matters, do not mistake his faith for stupidity. In this matter, he, too, had proof."

"He knew about… about you and…"

"He knew about me and Lily, yes; he missed little from the Head Table. I refer, however, to a few years later."

She waited.

"The prophecy. You know I heard it."

"Yes."

"And," his voice tightened, "reported it."

She nodded.

"I didn't know, Hermione. I had no idea whose… executions I had just..." He drew his fist to his mouth and held it there, clenched.

She didn't move.

"I didn't know that she was expecting a child, or when. But I learned. And at first I was… I was still angry. But later, eventually… after too long…"

"You went to Dumbledore."

He nodded. "I went to Dumbledore, and he warned them. Lily and - and the Longbottoms. I had expected to die, but he didn't turn me in. Instead, I turned spy."

She sifted the images in her memory and drew in her breath sharply. "You made an Unbreakable Vow with Dumbledore."

"Not with Dumbledore." His fist still at his mouth. "With Lily. With Lily… Potter." He lowered his hand and stared straight ahead.

Hermione stared at him. _He's never called her that before._

His hand fell to his lap. "Dumbledore was our Bonder. Every day that he saw me alive, he knew – not believed, _knew_ - his trust in me was not misplaced."

A thousand questions tumbled through her mind, but she ignored them. "He had faith in you, just the same," she said, stubbornly.

"He was a problematic man."

"So when you said that the power that saved Harry was the same as the one that killed him…"

"It was, Hermione. That power was me."

He gave her a moment to let that sink in. _Think, Hermione._

She knitted her brows. "The Quidditch game. His broom. You must have been watching him the entire time."

"I was speaking the counter-curse instantly. I hadn't even enough time to identify the source of the curse. Because I carry her blood in my veins, the Vow is more than voluntary."

"A compulsion."

He nodded.

Her eyes widened. "How horrible." Her eyes narrowed. "Severus… what, exactly, are the terms of that Vow?"

Very quietly, he replied, "To protect the child she then carried. To aid him in his mission, should he be the one prophesied to confront the Dark Lord. And, should he fail, to complete his mission for him."

Hermione drew in a sharp breath.

"Yes, Hermione, exactly. Exactly what Narcissa asked of me last year."

"You still loved her. Lily."

"Yes." 

"But… wait. You can't complete this mission. Only Harry can."

A raised eyebrow. _Good, Hermione… Now a little more…_

She ran her hands into hair and pressed. "If Harry fails, you will have failed, and you will die."

"Yes, Hermione." _A little more…_

She looked up at him. "Another gift. So you wouldn't have to live under Voldemort, should he..." She shook her head, amazed. "Dumbledore may have been a genius, but Lily… She was…"

"Compassionate." _And you, Hermione, are exceptional._

_Oh. OH._ Her eyes widened. "Passion, desperation, and sacrifice. And blood." Her tone was accusing. "All of them yours."

He nodded.

_He did not do that. He didn't!_ She reached for his face and turned it toward her own – a gesture of compassion, but more one of command. "Your sacrifice. You knew. You _knew_ , because of the blood bond, it could be something more, something in addition to the Vow, and you… you…"

"I embraced it."

"A compulsion. For love. The inverse of the Dark Mark."

He couldn't escape her gaze.

"Love. The flip side of Voldemort's power. And you chose it – you _twisted_ it into a compulsion. You bound yourself. By blood magic. To the Vow."

"Yes."

She glared at him. "That was unbelievably medieval of you."

_Medieval?_ He returned her gaze warily. But her expression was changing as he watched. That smile again.

"And selfish, and stupid, yes, _definitely_ stupid, but mostly, most importantly, medieval."

He stared at her. _That mind..._ He had no idea what she was going to do next.

She brought her hands to his face and held it firmly. "You, Severus Snape, are a bona fide idiot." She leaned in and brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth.

_Breath… Warm… _he thought, his eyes fluttering closed.

"And I think," she said, her lips a breath away from his, "that your medieval idiocy may have bought us exactly the chance we need."

He had no idea why his response to being called an "idiot" was to bury his hands in her hair and draw her to him, claiming her kiss, gently, insistently, lost in the feel of the weight of her head in his hands, his mouth moving firmly, possessively…

His only coherent thought was, _Mine._

* * *


	11. The First Time is the Hardest

A/N: Thanks to the usual suspects: Luna305 and Anastasia.

* * *

**The First Time is the Hardest**

_His only coherent thought was, Mine._

Hermione wasn't thinking at all.

Lips together, gently, softly, then crashing, demanding, hands in hair, pulling, hot breath, hands searing invisible brands, marking, burning, acid fire, raging defiant, furious, angry, into a sweeping, falling, drowning in the waters of a thousand silent, rippling, shadowing waves…

"Breathe - " Hermione gasped. Her neck arched, head bowing to his shoulder, her shoulders rising, falling, each breath a miracle, a reconnection. "I need to breathe."

"Yes, Hermione, by all means, please, keep breathing." A low rasping chuckle in her ear as he buried his face in the hair.

She gripped his collar as though it were her last connection to sanity, his hands firm, behind her shoulders, pressing, arms strong, wrapping, lower, claiming, and she – he, disappearing into the dark, hot night that was her mouth on his neck, his head fallen back, an offering, her mouth a blessing, a question, an answer, forgiveness, delirium, wonder, awe.

"Breathe, Hermione. Breathe," his breath ragged, her soft lips brushing, gentle, caressing, up his neck, her face resting beside his ear

His hands. Grasping her hair, supporting her head, stroking tracing one long curl to the end. One strong arm, around her waist, one hand, pressed, sated, on her hip.

Breathing. Silence.

Then, quietly –

"Severus?"

Firelight reflecting in the absolute blackness of his eyes. "Yes?" Still playing with her hair.

"Why?"

A low throaty rumble. "Do you ever run out of questions?"

"Not so far."

"I had no choice."

Her eyes glowed. "We all have choices."

He kissed her temple, gently, through her hair. "And I've made mine."

"Hm… good."

A very, very slightly cocked eyebrow, and a sideways look. Still lazily twirling curl around his finger. "Good?"

She trailed her hand down his buttons. _So soft._ "Very," she said, sounding determined.

His mouth twitched. "Indeed."

They sat in silence for a while longer. Finally, she sat up, snagging her hair as she moved. She extricated her hair from his hand and traced the outline of his eyebrow, touched the corner of his eye, with a light finger. _He's seen too much._

He closed his eyes, exhaling fully as he felt her hair leave his fingers. "Work?"

She tilted her lips in regret. "Work."

He watched at her from underneath his eyelashes as she stood, twisted her tumbled hair into its usual knot, and returned to her table. Of all of the masters he had served, including himself, Hermione might just prove to be the most ruthless.

After a moment, he followed her to the table.

She was taking an overlong time to arrange her notes. "May I speak plainly?"

"Of course. I am master enough of my responses to appreciate the delicacy and, ah… urgency of the situation."

She smiled skeptically, but couldn't help checking her watch.

"I see you take my meaning."

Hermione blushed furiously.

"Delightful..." he smirked. "Now. If you would be so kind as to summarize our… predicament."

"Ambiguous git," she muttered.

"Arithmancy, Miss Granger."

"As you wish, Professor." She began, "We have the first two figured out – the first blow to you is related to Voldemort's diary Horcrux by the life stage of Childhood, by the aspect of powerlessness. The two deaths involved – one and a half, anyway - were Moaning Myrtle and, almost, Ginny, both children. The second blow was your taking the Dark Mark, because of - " she didn't look at him. "Yes, well, for several reasons, all tied to Fatherhood and power. The deaths involved in making and destroying the ring Horcrux were Voldemort's patriarchal line and, of course, Dumbledore."

She stopped.

_Don't flinch, Hermione. Not now._

She drew a deep breath. "Right, then. Moving on. The third Horcrux, the locket, is related to your Vow to Lily – or your self-inflicted compulsion. The stage of life represented is Motherhood, and the aspect – I'm not sure yet – that will take some more work; a bit of a piggy-back with the compulsion riding on the Vow like that…." She made a few notations. "Assuming that this follows pattern – a rather large assumption," she said suddenly, eyes going wide. She shuffled her parchments, as if she feared a large smoking hole had appeared in one of them that was about to ignite and consume her hands.

He recognized the impulse for what it was – a delaying tactic. _Her logic was perfect, and she knows it._

Finding no gaping holes in her logic, Hermione continued in her best recitation voice, "Assuming that the fissuring of your soul follows the pattern of the creation of the Horcruxes, we can use your memories of what caused the fissures to understand Voldemort's Horcruxes. In so doing…" she took a deep breath, but her voice did not steady, "…we may be able to understand how to destroy them and who among the Order members is likely to be…" She could not finish. The lives of her friends were about to bleed through her quill.

He quietly finished for her, "Whose lives will be required to satisfy the Horcrux Indemnities, and in what order."

Her quill remained poised over the parchment, but it did not move.

"The first time is the hardest, Hermione."

"I always do my best work, Severus," – but the doubt in her voice was unmistakable.

"This time is different, I know."

"Severus… what if I fail? What if I succeed? I -" she faltered, and choked, "Either way, my friends are going to die."

"But not necessarily in vain, Hermione. Not necessarily in vain. That is your choice, your gift." Very softly, he spoke the next words: "You can't save them, Hermione. But you can give their deaths meaning."

She shook her head, eyes wide with a growing panic. "I don't think I can do this…. This kind of courage has always been Harry's. Dumbledore's." She looked at him. "Yours."

"You have the power to change the meaning of their deaths. Only you can give them that gift. Since you were eleven years old, I've been watching your mind work, watching it grow. Watching it fulfill its every initial promise, and demand ever greater challenges. You're the only one left whose mind is agile enough, fast enough, subtle enough for this. Your mind is one of our greatest weapons, Hermione – a weapon for justice, a weapon of mercy. You can do this. You've been preparing for it since the day you were born."

She closed her eyes, nodded once, quickly.

Moving to stand behind her, placing hands on her shoulders, he murmured, "This will hurt, Hermione. This will hurt as much as anything you ever do. You can do it. And I'm right here."

She nodded. Her face like marble, she put her quill to parchment and started working, Severus a wall of strength at her back.

After setting up the initial formula, she muttered, "Severus."

"The symbols?"

"It's time. I need them now. List them. I'll figure how it fits and work it into the formula."

He began, "Isis - the mother - "

"Lily." She started working the formula.

Without pause, Severus continued, " - hiding her son, Horus, protecting him until he is of age -"

"Harry, the blood magic, her legacy of protection ending yesterday evening." She consulted an earlier note, and worked in a symbol containing the body of a lion and the head of a hawk, Horus, differenced by an eagle's head, for Gryffindor.

" – to battle with Set, the serpent, the usurper - "

"We know who _that_ is," she muttered, and drew the symbol that writhed and coiled even as she shaped it.

" – who split Osiris into 7 pieces and their inversions, making 14, and hiding them along the banks of the Nile, corrupting, trading fertility for…"

"Immortality." She paused. "Is Osiris James, then?" She shook her head. "That doesn't work at all."

"Hermione, this is magic, not maths. _Think._ The mapping is not literal - not one to one. Consider Osiris a metaphor, for fatherhood, for the sun, for the fire that brings life. If you prefer, life itself."

Aloud, she muttered, "How sexist," but inside, she thought, _He still can't say "James Potter."_ No need to push this; she could work with it. Again she bent to her parchment.

"And Anubis. The black jackal - " a hitch in his voice – "the faithful companion of Isis. The first Potions master. Associated with death, with stasis, with wrapping the soul of the deceased. Associated with the underworld whose gates he guards, the guardian of lost souls – and thus the protector of orphans. Or, if you prefer," he continued, "the greasy git of the dungeons."

Still focused, her tone oddly distant, she said, "I don't. Not the label, anyway. The git himself is… interesting."

She worked in the "guardian" aspect of Anubis. They watched the formula run, hot, cold, liquid, its intensity beginning its transformation from ultraviolet to infrared. The changes were slow, subtle, and inexorable.

Hermione breathed. "That's all the formula will accept for the moment. There's still something missing, but this has to resolve first." Shifting in her chair, she commented, "I always thought Anubis was unfairly represented in most modern versions. After all, he _did_ help Isis find and reassemble the pieces of the … Oh, wait. Isis… but that's Lily. But..." The parallel was hitting too close to home.

"Part of my function regarding the Horcruxes is fulfilled. I know what and where they are, Hermione."

She turned in her chair and gaped at him. "_All_ of them!"

"All. Potter was not the only one who was privy to Dumbledore's work, and I have, since, had time to think. Finish this one first."

"But - "

Wistfully, he cautioned, "One at a time, Hermione." The small triangle of his white shirt stood out starkly against the otherwise unrelieved black of his shadowy form. "One at a time."

She sighed. She did not want to watch the ink swirling on the parchment. "There's a symbol I've yet to add."

"Soon. Are you ready, Hermione?"

She nodded, determined. But her expression was devoid of any of the light that usually accompanied her intellectual work.

Severus turned his head, curtaining his face behind his hair so she could not see him wince. He had brought her to this point, brutally. Even so, casting a shadow over the usual light in Hermione's face was not anywhere close to the worst crime he had ever committed. Relatively speaking, it should not have registered at all. But -

His left forearm prickled - an early warning, as he was in favor. An hour, probably. Maybe a little more.

Her voice brought him back to himself. "You do know what the next symbol is, Severus?"

"Yes," he said, mustering a mirthless chuckle. "I was going to ask if you did. The later form of Anubis, from the period of Greek influence."

"When his aspects – well – bonded with those of Hermes, founder of alchemy, and was renamed Hermanubis. I figured that out while you were destroying the kitchen."

"You begin to see, then. Why I - " he couldn't finish aloud, but his mind raced. _Why I destroyed your innocence… used you… tested you… pushed you to see if you'd break. I have to, to protect him. Them._ He swallowed. _To protect you. I had to sacrifice you to protect you._

The silence stretched between them, her knowing eyes deepening to a shade almost as dark as his own.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Severus."

"Many." His eyes held hers with an intensity almost as profound as that moving on the parchment behind her. "You can finish it now?" It was a challenge.

She returned his gaze with utter composure. "This part of it, yes." With meticulous precision, she added the alchemical figure representing Hermanubis, but inflected it with the caduceus, the symbol of Hermes in his healer aspect.

The formulae swirled into tight, efficient spirals; with less energy expended for greater result, isolated areas began to stabilize.

With an air of finality, she set down her quill.

His eyes widened as her meaning dawned on him. _Hermes._ She had never imposed her will on events before; in one Arithmantic gesture she had demonstrated not only her acceptance of all he had forced upon her in the last hours, but committed herself to seeing it – all of it – through to the end. Not just as a member of the Order of the Phoenix – they were all sworn to stand by Harry Potter against Voldemort. That would have been enough – more than should be asked of the slight figure before him, no matter how astonishing her mind.

But Hermione, with the last inflection of the symbol representing their combined efforts, had voluntarily committed herself to an additional end: his liberation.

"Your move, Severus," she said quietly.

Severus could not tear his eyes from the parchment. _Hermione, what have you done?_

"Did I remind you of someone, just now?" She smiled wistfully.

He could not find his voice. Her gift rivaled Lily's. No response seemed possible.

"This formula _will_ work," she said quietly.

"Given time." His eyes were haunted.

_He expects to die. He expects to see his name on the list when I'm done. Last, perhaps, but there just the same._

They watched as the ink eddied. Its progress was hypnotic. And inevitable.

* * *

A note on sources: All of the references to Egyptian myth and their Greek develpment, including Anubis being the guardian of orphans and the blending of Anubis with Hermes, are accurate, gleaned from many excellent websites. I took the liberty of making Anubis a Potions master, of course ;) - but he did invent embalming fluid and other funerary unguents. 


	12. Of Masks and Mirrors I

A/N: Thanks to Melenka and Luna305. This chapter is dedicated to someone who will never read this story. Ah, humanity.

* * *

**Of Masks and Mirrors (I)**

_They watched as the ink eddied. Its progress was hypnotic. And inevitable._

--------------------------

Hermione stood unblinking, watching the ink swirling, its color deepening, glowing, reflecting hazily on the polished table. She started as a hand touched her elbow, and looked up to see Severus offering her a small flask.

"A Calming Draught," he said.

She waved it away. "I can't; I might need to -"

He ran his hand up her arm, and rubbed it gently. "The calculations are perfect, Hermione. You can do no more with them tonight."

"But if something happens -"

"A modified version, Hermione; this will merely calm your mind, not impair your reflexes."

Her eyes flicked from the parchment to the potion. Finally, she sighed gratefully. "Thank you."

Taking the empty flask from her, he reached for her hand and drew her out of her chair. "Well done, Hermione."

An exhausted smile crossed her lips briefly, but it did not reach her eyes. He drew his cloak around them as if its darkness could protect her from what was happening on the parchment.

The glow emanating from it was changing from stormy indigo to a smoky violet.

He shut his eyes against it and rested his cheek on her hair, and she sighed again, a tired sigh, but her breath was smooth. The Draught was taking effect.

He stroked her hair softly, focusing all of his attention on the feel of it under his hand, between his fingers, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger, jarring one of the slivers of glass he'd not bothered to heal. The abrasion against the small cut heightened his awareness of the feel of all of her – of her warmth, her weight in his arms. Tilting her chin up toward him, he saw dark circles under her eyes. _Patience, Snape._

He led her away from the table, toward the fire. He sat in the Transfigured chair. "Come," he said, drawing her to sit next to him.

She leaned against him, her cheek on his chest, staring into the dying fire. It blurred before her, and she blinked. She caught her breath, and closed her eyes.

He was sitting at an awkward angle, the chair arm digging into his back, but he did not move. Placing his palm on the side of her face, holding her against him gently, he said nothing, brushing his fingertips against her cheek, thinking.

The third condition of Lily's Vow, the one that guaranteed his death should the Dark Lord prevail, had been the act of a compassionate woman. Hermione's voluntary binding of her will to his liberation stemmed from a different impulse; one that he did not yet understand. He had loved Lily; who had, for a time, loved him. His feelings for her had been the imperative that severed and bound his life, his soul, filling an outward emptiness with an obscure but irresistible purpose. She – with her love, her gift, her death, and her child – had given shape to Severus Snape, given language to his thought, judgment to his decisions, and reason to his existence. He had long known he would serve his sentence, play out his allotted hour, through the terms of his obligation to her, and find his release either as a sacrifice for a Horcrux or in a suicidal attack on a victorious Dark Lord.

That his death might be a sacrifice was the closest thing he'd known to hope; that it would otherwise be suicide, the closest thing to optimism.

Until now.

He leaned his head to Hermione's, and kissed her hair, gently. He saw her eyelashes flutter, and adjusted his position slightly.

"Hermione?"

"Hm?" She sounded sleepy.

"I believe I've ascertained what you meant by 'medieval.'"

Despite her exhaustion, she laughed softly. "10 points to Slytherin." Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and smoothed her hair back. Studiously ignoring the glow from the parchment – now a rather vile green, shading towards a rancid yellow – she tilted her head and looked appraisingly at him.

"Severus, do you really hate Harry?" she asked quietly.

"No."

She arched her eyebrow skeptically and waited.

_She's getting too good at that._ "I hated his father."

"Obviously. I was speaking of Harry."

"Him, I fear."

"You fear Harry?" _Oh, the irony._ "Because you think he might fail?"

"No. If he fails, I have nothing to fear."

"If it's not that, then what is it?"

"Because he holds my life in his reckless hands."

She turned this over in her mind. "Severus… how absolute is the Compulsion? Is it triggered every time Harry's in danger, or only when you're nearby?"

His voice measured, bitter, he said, "Every single time."

She eased herself out of the chair and went to stand, alert, by the fire.

"Did you never notice how 'convenient' all of my appearances were? His decision to go after the Stone – have you ever heard of 'speed chess,' Hermione? Who found Potter and brought him to the Hospital Wing? I did. When he was in the Chamber of Secrets, I walked every corridor in Hogwarts for hours, in vain – I could not find the entrance. The night in the Shrieking Shack, I was there in two heartbeats."

"But… he was in no danger from Sirius."

"_Pettigrew_," he spat.

She shut her mouth, eyes snapping.

"And every time I believed the condition bearable – just, mind – Potter would, in his sadistic ignorance, devise a way to increase my torment. I spent the Tournament year with an endless, pounding migraine, because only the great Harry Potter can put himself in mortal danger simply by _procrastinating_.

"The night the Dark Lord returned, I _knew_ the stakes as soon as Potter touched the Cup. I _knew_, and there in the crowd, surrounded by children with large eyes and bigger mouths, I did not dare move for fear of betraying the larger purpose. To move a muscle would have resulted in my death, Hermione," he hissed, eyes smoldering, and he rose, a barely contained volcano.

His eyes were molten as he closed the distance between them. "Who alerted the Order to the Ministry, the next year? And the next - I _know_ that Potter attacked Malfoy in self-defense. I felt Malfoy's intent to harm him almost before Malfoy himself did, and Potter's response followed, hard. I oversaw Potter's detentions personally in order to spare my own strength for what I knew - _knew_ - was coming, and in short order. Parking Potter's arse in my dungeon was the _only_ way I could get a break – the only time I _wasn't_ driven to agonized distraction by the Compulsion."

Gripping the mantle with both hands, he dropped his voice. His eyes glowed with manic intensity.

"And that final night, I knew where Dumbledore was taking him. And I waited. I sat, waiting. I sat, reading the book that _that boy's dead mother_ had given me, an endlessly reverberating echo that refused to die. I waited. And waited... and then I knew, and I ran - Flitwick fell, a casualty of my haste. Blindly, from the dungeons. Blindly, through the castle. Blindly, through a battle in which _all_ of the fallen were my comrades. And up the stairs,

"…and into silence...

"And all of my marks, my Vows, my Compulsion, all of what you blithely call my _medieval_ constraints combined on that Tower into one moment, one act, one towering, inglorious sacrilege. I killed him because Narcissa's Vow compelled me to complete Draco's mission. I killed him because Lily's Vow compelled me to protect Harry – have you figured _that_ out yet, Hermione Granger? And I killed Albus Dumbledore because _that's what a loyal Death Eater would do, given the chance._"

The mantle splintered in his hands. He dropped his arms to his sides and stood glaring at the floor.

"The only thing that held my soul in my body was that the bonds were unified, Hermione. Otherwise, I would have fallen."

She looked at him for a moment, then repaired the mantle with a flick of her wand.

"Severus."

When he did not respond, she took a step closer, hooking a finger behind one of the buttons on her shirt. "Severus," she said more firmly.

He stood, unmoving.

_"Severus,"_ she yelled.

He flinched. Her voice echoed in the house which suddenly loomed, vast and empty, around them.

"Look at me."

He shook his head.

"Look at me," her voice blistered with command.

Out of the corner of his eye, through his hair, he risked one glance.

With one finger, she undid two of her buttons and pulled her shirt to expose the mark on her chest.

The empty ring of seven black pearl-sized dots was filling, from the center outward, with a small black roiling cloud.

His eyes glittered - empty, save for a terrible, patient hunger.

* * *


	13. Of Masks and Mirrors II

A/N: Enjoy...

* * *

**Of Masks and Mirrors (II)**

_The ring of seven black pearl-sized dots was filling, from the center outward, with a small black roiling cloud. _

His eyes glittered - empty, save for a terrible, patient hunger.

His hunger would not be denied.

In one fluid, feral movement, he was on her – trapping her hand, straining her shirt open, eyes staring at her mark with fierce, desperate need, her skin flaring to life, his gaze drawn inexorably to the symbol emblazoned on her chest – powerful, possessive, and permanent.

"Mine," he growled, leaning in, lowering his mouth to the cloud swirling on her skin, a turbulent oasis of potential, of promise.

His voice slid through her, her nerves resonating in harmonic response. She arched in primal offering, the slow, starving insistence of his lips thundering in her heartbeat, his fingers a ring of bruising desperation on her skin. Her hands flew to his face, a wild grasp at balance, at completion.

And they fell, hard, to the floor.

His weight slamming into her, his hair grazing her skin, his mouth demanding on her mark, she enfolded him to her chest, hands firm, gentle, merciless, on his head, knotting in his hair - inciting him, gentling him, discordant, lost, subsumed by fury, pity, fear, and desire, clawing, raking the thick wool on his shoulders in a paradox of mercy and terror as he drew her skin in his mouth, his teeth rough on her skin, the pressure building -

His need unrelenting, insatiable; its satiety forbidden, his hand dove, grasping her hair, wrapping it around his wrist, firmly, holding her trembling just this side of pain.

"I-" his voice breaking

Her hands on his shoulders, down his arms, drawing his full weight onto her, yielding, trapped, secure, safe –

-- he caught himself before, just before, he crushed her, and tightened his grip in her hair.

"Hermione," a simmering moan, "I'm dying." His hands in her hair, clenching, his shoulders shaking. "I want to. I – want – to - die."

Her breath a desert wind in his eyes: "I won't let you."

"How dare you…" he growled.

Her expression fathomless, ancient, newborn, she drew his eyes to hers by force of will alone. "Because," she said, twisting his hair around her fingers in a dark echo of her own habit, "you asked me – begged me – to - "

Her fingers knotted around one strand of his hair, she yanked once, hard, sharp, before spreading her hands on his face, pulling him to her, murmuring, "The small pain makes a good distraction, Severus. I learned that from you."

Eyes blazing, open, aching, he bent and brushed her lips, persuading, hands brushing, burning, down her neck, her shoulders, to the bare skin, dancing, trailing to buttons, through fabric, falling open, delicate, smooth, summer, hot, palm pressed on skin, firmer, farther, grasping her hip, pulling, possessing possessed –

- she rising, body supple, fingers delicate, determined, eager, a button, and another, another, wool, linen rough on fingertips breaking, breaching, taboo, pausing, then -

- her fingers, cool, burning, enflamed, tracing, encircling, spiraling, hypnotic, mesmerizing, a slow firm persistent inevitable balm over his heart, palm pressed, seeking, forgiving, demanding, turning him over, sideways, down, so -

- her mouth over his heart, tongue following fingers, sliding, slippery, downwards, his eyes fluttering shut, captive, enslaved, every soft button a release, a confession, an absolution, linen scraping, exposed, air, a chill, a breath, her skin, warm, a consolation, a problem, a philosophy, a solution -

- resolution, dissolution, innocence, discovery, wonder, knowledge, awe, escalation, rising, falling, rising, building, need, force, shaking, desire, pain, negation, no, pleading, hope, no, belief, faith, no, please, please, then - crashing, spinning, tumbling, falling, softly, boneless, wordless…

… stillness… silence… softness… awareness…

_Yes._

The fire died, slowly, to low, basking coals. The glow of the parchment at the other end of the room flared a violent orange. A flash of ozone, then the light fell slowly, fading, bathing the room in a slow, steady heartbeat - an emanation the color of old blood.

Her head back on the hearth, his hair a black waterfall across her eyes, skin cooling, air drying the sweat on their bodies, she did not see the glow, did not think of its import.

Holding him, collapsed, heavy, breathing, in her arms, Hermione smelled rain.

/x/

Breathing her skin, lips bruised, aching, pressing a soft kiss on her neck –

- and he could move. Trailing his fingertips across her mark, still swirling, rising up, propped on an elbow, a kiss on the small dark circle a hint of promise, a tinge of despair, a breath sharp with life, he chuckled, low, throaty.

She turned, blinking lazily, to watch him.

His eyes sated coals, nudging her chin aside with his head to paint a trail of dark velvet whispers on her collarbone.

She brought one hand up, weakly, entranced, to trace his back, lean, sharp, taut.

He raised his head to look at her. Finding his voice, he murmured, "Why?"

"I had a choice. I made it." She nestled closer to him.

Another chuckle.

His arm brushed the mark on her chest, and the Dark Mark flared to life.


	14. Of Masks and Mirrors III

A/N: Note to readers: I confess that I could not bear to include what happens in this chapter with what happened in the last. I split them into two. -- Ariadne

* * *

**Of Masks and Mirrors (III)**

_His arm brushed the mark on her chest, and the Dark Mark flared to life._

Hermione felt him tense. "The wards or the Mark?"

"The Mark," he said grimly, sitting up, his moves agile, lithe, precise.

A few subtle wand movements and a fully-robed Death Eater stood before her, reaching a gloved hand out to help her stand.

Unnerved, Hermione nonetheless accepted the offered hand. Something pressed into her palm - something sharp, flat, and metal.

"It's a two-way mirror with a Protean Charm, Hermione – I Charmed it this afternoon. Use it if you need to; mine is attuned only to myself. It's safe," he paused, then muttered, "As much as anything can be."

Mind awhirl, she nodded mutely, her skin growing cold, her heart growing colder.

He reached for her face, but hesitated. She clasped his hand and pressed it to her cheek, the leather glove hard, her eyes searching his masked face for the man behind it.

"After the initial release, one often finds that subtlety has its own, even greater rewards, Hermione. Watch the parchment."

With those enigmatic words, he Disapparated.

Reaching for her clothing, she looked at the piece of metal she held – a half-circle with one sharp, slightly jagged edge. In the dim light it was difficult to be certain, but it seemed to bear the unmistakable impression of once having had tines. _A fork!_ She shook her head in wonder, then was brought up short as two things happened simultaneously: her brain kicked into full gear and her knees gave out.

_Okay… Breathe…_ Holding her clothes in a jumbled pile, she collapsed gracelessly onto the nearest chair. _Breathe, Granger._ No, okay, that wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. That did not just happen. And it was certainly not going to happen again…

_Liar._

A very small, very old smile played across her lips. One that would have frightened even a Gringotts goblin.

A few minutes later, fully dressed, she turned to the table where the dark red light from parchment was still pulsing its tell-tale rhythm.

_No._ She screwed her eyes shut, and resisted the urge to curl into a ball. A voice, an echo out of memory, saying, _"I won't be there to help you."_

"No, of course not." Then she winced. If Severus could go from… what had happened straight to a Death Eater meeting - _Please be okay_ - then she could face what awaited her on the parchment. One name. The first of - _"One at a time, Hermione. One at a time."_ She stared at the cool metal in her hands, then clenched her fist around it – _"The small pain…"_ - and stood.

She walked slowly to the table, drew a deep breath, and looked down.

There, on the parchment, the ink whorls had resolved.

_Molly Prewett Weasley._

Hermione clenched the metal in her fist, and a trickle of blood seeped between her fingers.

/x/

Somewhere else, a low tone sounded like a gong in his mind, a coppery taste filled his mouth. Severus' eyes narrowed behind his mask. She had seen the first name. He had a good idea whose it was.

Lucius Malfoy spotted the look and mistook it for anticipation. Malfoy clapped his fellow Death Eater on the back and joined a knot of others, clustered by a stone table.

Schooling his eyes to their customary blankness, Severus followed. The plans for the evening had not yet been revealed.

/x/

Hermione reached blindly for the chair. She shoved the offending parchment away - _Evil! Vile!_ - and buried her head in her arms.

/x/

A rustle of robes in a circle of Darkness.

The plans were in motion.

The owl had flown.

They watched, and waited, poised to kill.

/x/

The tears would not come. She sat up, dazed, and automatically began to straighten her notes. To a casual observer, she might have been packing up her homework in the Gryffindor Common Room.

/x/

The owl's wings beat a harsh, slow rhythm in the misty air.

/x/

They waited.

/x/

She reached for fresh parchment.

_The fourth..._ Her eyes screwed shut involuntarily. _You can do this, Granger. You have to do this._

/x/

A dark house.

An owl at a window.

A lighted wand.

Trembling hands breaking a seal; a wash of tears on cheeks; joy in the eyes of a mother long shunned.

"Oh, Percy."

/x/

The cloaks rustled in a rising wind.

/x/

_Voldemort's fourth Horcrux…_ "I can't!" Hermione screamed.

Mrs. Black's portrait muttered in her sleep. Otherwise, Grimmauld Place did not answer.

/x/

A steady beat of wings, a blasphemous excitement, a collective will bent toward…

A series of _pops_ as the cloaked figures Disapparated.

One lingered for a fraction longer than the others, drawing on recent memory. A streak of icy blue-white, and he, too, was gone.

The circle was empty.

/x/

The jackal exploded into the library, a blazing white light, a shout: _"LEAKY CAULDRON! NOW!"_

And then the library too was empty. No movement, no sound, save the rustle of a lone piece of parchment as it drifted to the floor.


	15. War

A/N: Thanks, as always, to Luna305 for beta duty, and to TimeTurnerForSale, a.k.a. Anastasia, for live RR. The ceiling is for you.

* * *

**War**

_The jackal exploded into the library, a blazing white light, a shout: "LEAKY CAULDRON! NOW!" _

And then the library too was empty. No movement, no sound, save the rustle of a lone piece of parchment as it drifted to the floor.

Hermione appeared in the Leaky Cauldron. It was empty save for a frowzled, sleepy witch emerging from the Floo.

"Mrs. Weasley! It's a trap!" she shrieked, diving instinctively for the covering shadows of the bar.

Molly whipped her wand out of her bathrobe pocket and backed into the nearest wall as a dozen or more black-robed figures emerged from the shadows. She crouched into a fighting stance, both her posture and the look in her eyes at odds with her usual comforting, slightly distracted presence.

_Too late, Hermione._ A masked figure edged, catlike, toward the bar.

Hermione did not betray the fact that she noticed.

A dozen hexes, curses, and Binding spells flew from a dozen wands, converged on each other, some fizzling, some rebounding to crash into the walls, the ceiling, and the chairs that were stacked on the long wooden tables. Plaster silt exploded into the air and drifted downwards, feet raising the dust from the floor, a cloud obscuring all but the hooded figures and the chair legs, oddly disembodied in the haze.

Hermione watched, unnoticed, from the deep shadow behind the bar. One dark figure separated from the chaos, gliding in apparent slow motion toward the fireplace where Hermione had last seen Mrs. Weasley, indifferent to the flying arcs of light, the blinding iridescence of firing spells, the cacaphony of shouts, yells, curses, counter-curses.

_Voldemort,_ Hermione thought, retreating further into the cover of the bar, flinching as a large chunk of the ceiling fell and crashed down, showering her in plaster and bits of brick. _Please, please, Mrs. Weasley, escape._

Then she realized – the older witch would not leave her here; she would reach Hermione or die trying.

_Damn!_

Severus Snape had just reached the same conclusion.

Through the smoke, dust, and hail of plaster, Hermione saw that one of the larger Death Eaters was approaching on Molly's blind side, wand out, ready to strike. Abandoning her hiding place, she leapt to her feet, shouting, "_Expelliarmus!_"

All eyes turned to her as his wand flew to her hand, and in that moment, Molly let fly a Stunner at the Death Eater closest to Hermione.

"_Protego,_" Severus snapped, flicking his wand almost negligently a few degrees to the left, deliberately deflecting the rebound away from Molly and angling the shield's radius to protect Hermione from whatever curses might fly her way next.

Molly's face contorted with fury as, not realizing the real implications of his subtle deflection, she nonetheless recognized his voice. The wandless Death Eater made a dive for her, grabbing a handful of her bathrobe, entangling her in it and pulling her down. Molly struggled to stay upright, to free herself, to get to Hermione.

Hermione did the only thing she could think of. "Molly!" she shouted. "Hogwarts!" And she Disapparated.

_Adequate,_ Severus thought, dropping his shield and inching forward toward the ongoing struggle, his mind smooth, focused - determined, if nothing else, to help a brave woman die.

But Hermione's departure freed Molly, who, falling, flung a final well-aimed curse at the central ceiling beam and Disapparated. Severus' last thought as he dove under a table to avoid the crashing beam was that she'd taken Crabbe with her.

/x/

Hermione grabbed the iron gates of Hogwarts for balance, clutching the Death Eater's wand and the pitted iron column awkwardly. Less than a second later, her Patronus shot off to Professor McGonagall, and she found herself counting seconds, thinking, _Come on, Molly… please…. Professor, hurry!_ and _Please be okay._

Whether that last thought was for Molly Weasley, or for Severus, or for herself, she wasn't sure. She repeated it like a prayer as the wind rustled in the trees.

And then Molly Weasley Apparated before her, on the ground, flailing, struggling with the burly Death Eater. Hermione tried to take aim, but could not get a clear shot. _Blast it! Oh, bloody hell… "Stupefy!"_

The Death Eater went rigid, and Molly shoved him roughly off of her. She flinched reflexively away from the inert body, and stood up slowly, stiffly.

Hermione was instantly at her side. "Are you hurt?"

Molly shook her head. She held the Death Eater at wand point, and, in response to a gesture, his mask slid aside.

"Crabbe," Molly snarled. For a moment she seemed lost, then the corners of her eyes crinkled as if she'd been struck anew by remembered pain. Very quietly, she said, _"Avada Kedavra."_

Hermione was stunned.

Molly looked up, pale around the eyes, her expression vague. "This is war, Hermione." And she fainted. Hermione caught her shoulders and the two of them slid heavily to the ground. Resting Molly's head in her lap, Hermione looked anxiously toward the castle, where a slanting rectangle of warm yellow shone from its base. A dark figure hurried toward them, a small point of light marking its progress down the lane.

"Professor McGonagall! Hurry!" Hermione shouted.

"Hermione?" came the distant response.

"Molly's fainted!" she called back.

A few moments later, Minerva, wand out, was unlocking the gates. She stopped short at the sight of the Death Eater's body. "What on earth - "

Minerva raked her eyes sharply over the scene - Crabbe's body a crumple of twisted black robes, a foot splayed at an unnatural angle, a ragged hole worn in the sole of one dusty boot; pale dusty swaths painting Molly's deep blue bathrobe, her head in Hermione's lap, her cheeks damply reflecting wandlight; and Hermione, cradling the older women, her eyes glassy.

"What has happened?" Minerva hastened to Molly and felt for a pulse. Relieved, she asked, "Are you all right, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded, saying simply, "He's dead." After a pause, she added, almost to herself, "Molly killed him."

Minerva stood, nostrils flared slightly, but otherwise betraying no outward hint of distress. "It is high time we got you both inside," she said, waving her wand and gently bearing Molly's prone form through the gates. "I shall have Poppy see to Molly, and inform Hagrid about…" she gestured toward Crabbe's body, "… that." She closed the gates and re-set the defenses, muttering, "Better Hagrid than Filch, oh yes, especially at this hour." More loudly, she ordered, "Come along, child."

Hermione responded obediently, relieved by the headmistress' presence and her familiar, somewhat brusque efficiency. But a little voice in the corner of her mind, the voice that accompanied harder, more knowledgeable eyes and small, old smiles, said, _Child? Oh, no. I don't think so. Not any longer._

"Once we see Molly settled, I will, of course, be wanting to hear your explanation - " Minerva continued, distantly, but not unkindly. "Although I know you're tired."

Hermione nodded mutely.

Minerva spared Hermione a glance. The girl looked all in: her Muggle jeans grimy, shirt askew, her hair an astonishing lopsided tangle… and, although it might have been her imagination, it seemed to Minerva that Hermione was rather carefully avoiding her eyes. _The child must be in shock…_ She sniffed. She would have Poppy see to her, as well, but after they talked.

There was no delaying their debriefing conversation – as titular head of the Order, Minerva knew she had to place information above all else, even concern for whatever had put that look on her favorite student's face. A small sigh escaped her lips. She'd lived through the Grindelwald years, and knew all too well the burdens Albus had carried, large and small. This one, she knew, was small.

Well, there was no avoiding it. Better a quiet explanation than taking center stage before a rampant gaggle of distraught Weasleys.

What Minerva didn't know was that what she would ask of Hermione Granger was not unlike what Albus had asked, so often, of Severus Snape.


	16. I'm Right Here

A/N: With gratitude to Anastasia, partner-in-Transfiguration.

* * *

**I'm Right Here**

_What Minerva didn't know was that what she would ask of Hermione Granger was not unlike what Albus had asked, so often, of Severus Snape._

Half an hour later, Hermione sat in the headmistress' office, accepting a cup of tea. The cup clattered against the saucer as she held it in her lap.

_Poor child,_ Minerva thought, sitting behind her desk. Aloud, she said "I've notified the Weasleys – good news at such an hour is a rarity, but even so, I'm afraid they are quite understandably upset. Arthur is with Molly now, and the children will be along shortly."

Hermione nodded, staring at her milky tea. She blinked. Only hours before she had been gazing into brandy, into a heavy lead-crystal snifter, and in it she had glimpsed the refracted shapes that had led her – _You embraced it_ - to present events.

Minerva peered at her with some concern. "My dear, I know you must be quite shaken up by what you've seen tonight..."

_Seen? Done._ Hermione just nodded.

"…and I hate to ask it of you, but I need to know. What has happened?"

Hermione began, "I was researching, working on my formula, trying to get a fix on various aspects of the Horcrux problem, and…"

"Working? Where?"

"Grimmauld Place. The Burrow is rather… " she gestured, half-apologetically. "It being Harry's birthday… "

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Minerva's mouth twitched. "I quite imagine it is rather a difficult place to concentrate. Well, you're safe enough at Grimmauld Place. You did leave word as to where you were going?"

Hermione looked up guiltily. "No, Headmistress. Harry assumed I was coming here, to the Library. I… I let him."

A stern look. "Miss Granger, that was – " Minerva stopped herself. Something on Hermione's face… "Yes, well. You know perfectly well it was irresponsible. Continue."

Hermione's mind raced frantically. How much to tell? All? Some? If some, what? She glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait, and Minerva looked at her sympathetically.

"I miss him too, Miss Granger."

"Has he awakened at all, yet?" Hermione asked, the possible ramifications of what she might divulge still playing out in logical pathways that had thus far offered her no guidance for how much to say.

Minerva looked away from the portrait and closed her eyes. In that brief moment, Hermione saw Dumbledore shake his head at her, very slightly. _So you are awake, then. I thought as much…Okay, so, he wants me to keep quiet about Severus._

Mastering whatever she'd been feeling, Minerva said crisply, "No, Miss Granger, I am afraid he hasn't."

"Ah…" Hermione's tone was bland. _Right, then._

Minerva looked up. That tone, a tone which revealed nothing save that it was hiding something, reminded her of… no. Shaking the feeling off, she continued, "Miss Granger, do proceed. I cannot keep the Weasleys at bay indefinitely, and – forgive me, child – you are a sight. Tell me what happened, and let's get you tucked away – you may stay in the dormitory – and perhaps a hot soak would be in order."

"Yes, Headmistress." _Just the facts. And not too many of those._ Hermione shuffled the night's events in her mind, and delivered a highly edited version of her story. "I was researching, and working a few formulae – the library at Grimmauld Place has a few rather… well… shady… um… Arithmantic sources - " An image flashed in her mind, a sensory memory, of Severus' hair sweeping across her face as she clutched his shoulders, the tendons in his neck straining as he arched his back… _Oh, dear… "Shady sources"… indeed._ She swallowed nervously, repressing a highly inappropriate giggle.

"I do understand, Miss Granger, and would urge you to extreme caution where such sources are concerned…"

_Oh, gods…_

The headmistress continued, "They pose no small danger to the inexperienced." She paused, and her face pinched with disapproval. "They can be quite seductive."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, hard.

Minerva sighed. "But such risks are sometimes necessary. I trust you have experienced nothing out of the ordinary? No unexpected effects from your activities this evening?"

Keeping her jaw firmly clamped shut, Hermione looked the headmistress in the eye and shook her head.

"No?"

Digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand, she shook her head more firmly.

That seemed to satisfy the headmistress, who nodded once. "Then pray continue."

Hermione drew a steadying breath.

Minerva inclined her head sympathetically. "Take a moment if you need to, Miss Granger. Realizing that you have inadvertently flirted with a Darkness for which you were completely unprepared, that you may have courted your own transformation – yes, most unsettling. I do understand."

_If this continues much longer, I shall burst into hysterics,_ Hermione thought wildly, steeling herself to a greater amount of control than she'd ever possessed. _Focus._ Finding her voice, she announced, "I believe that I may have found a pattern in Voldemort's actions."

Minerva's eyes widened at that, and she leaned forward slightly.

Hermione recounted the parallels between Voldemort's life stages at the creation of the Horcruxes, and the ages of his victims, leaving out all mention of the fact that Severus' memories were what had allowed her to see the patterns. "I am not entirely certain, Headmistress, but the pattern insofar as I have been able to reconstruct it indicates that… Well, I believe there may be some kind of…" she swallowed. "… some kind of life Indemnity required to destroy the remaining Horcruxes. It seems logical."

Minerva sat back in her chair as the implications of Hermione's words registered. _The child's a marvel._

"I hypothesized that the third Horcrux might be connected somehow to the issue of Motherhood – more specifically, fertility – and thought immediately of Molly."

"An inspired bit of logic. Yes, inspired."

That small voice in Hermione's mind laughed dryly. _"Inspired." You have no idea._

"Well done, Miss Granger."

Hermione breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"One more question, before you go."

"Yes, Headmistress?"

"How did you know to go to the Leaky Cauldron?"

Hermione's eyes flew to Dumbledore's portrait again, but no more assistance was forthcoming from that source. Turning her gaze back to Minerva, she was quiet for a moment, before saying firmly, "I can't tell you."

Minerva's eyebrows shot up. "Can't?"

Hermione considered her options, then amended, "No, of course, you're right. I'm afraid that the truth is that I won't. Tell you, that is. You're going to have to trust me."

Although her own manner was forthright to the point of bluntness, Minerva McGonagall had witnessed too many exchanges between Albus and Severus not to catch a similar subtext in this one. _She was tipped off by someone._ She caught her breath sharply. _And she's protecting her source… young Malfoy, perhaps._ She breathed out, slowly, glaring at Albus' portrait. _Wake up, old man. Sooner would be preferable._ Then her heart tightened, and she thought, _I am a Scot, Albus; we've always preferred Claymores to spying._

There was a long moment of silence, in which she searched Hermione's face appraisingly, running through all of her memories of Hermione's student years. Hermione returned her look calmly, accepting whatever judgment the older witch would reach.

Finally, the headmistress nodded.

"There is something else," Hermione began, reaching into her pocket. "This was in Kreacher's nest."

She stood and placed Slytherin's locket on the headmistress' desk.

Minerva pushed her chair back, eyes wide.

"I believe that Molly's life may somehow be…" Hermione dropped her eyes and her voice, "… required. In order to destroy it," she finished.

The headmistress' horrified eyes flew from the locket to Hermione and back.

Hermione whispered, "I'll keep working on it."

"Do." Then Minerva's eyes softened, and she gave Hermione a small smile. "Whoever - However you managed it, you saved Molly's life tonight. You must continue your research." More briskly, she concluded, "I shall inform the Weasleys that you are working on Order business and that for now you must do so uninterrupted. After tonight - " she glanced out the window at the lightening sky and frowned " - after this morning, then – you shall stay at Grimmauld Place. Report to me daily, on your research and… on anything else that may be relevant."

Hermione, knowing herself dismissed, rose to leave. As she reached for the door handle, Minerva spoke again.

"Hermione…"

Hand still on the handle, she turned.

"Be careful." The older woman's eyes were glistening.

Hermione nodded and left. She shut the door and leaned against it. _I'm a spy,_ she thought. _Well, no, not a spy, exactly, although goodness know what Professor McGonagall thinks. A courier, then._ Okay, she could work with that.

That question settled, she started to head down the stairs. Abruptly, she reached out for the banister.

Minerva McGonagall had just ordered her to move in with Severus Snape. Inadvertently, to be sure, but… _Oh, dear. And Dumbledore knows… Oh, dear. How very… _She wanted to say "appalling," but the word would not come. _How very… adequate._

She flew down the spiral staircase, through the halls, and barely made it into the Prefects' bathroom before she finally burst out laughing.

/x/

A parchment lay on the floor in the pre-dawn light.

Stiffly, slowly, Severus bent down to pick it up. He glanced at it – the words "Molly Prewett Weasley" still pulsing faintly red – and set it on the table, eyes taking in the rumpled parchments that Hermione had roughly shoved aside not two hours earlier. Placing his palms on the table, he eased into her chair and drew the nearest parchments closer to him. His face a flat, expressionless mask, his eyes flicked to the top of a nearly empty page, which bore only the words "Voldemort's fourth Horcrux." Slowly, methodically, he set about smoothing the wrinkles out of the parchments with the heel of his hand, not stopping until all of them lay neat, flat, aligned perfectly with each other and the edge of the table. Resting his fingertips on the edge of the table, then, he focused his breathing and closed his eyes.

The unsuccessful attempt to capture Molly Weasley had earned the Death Eaters responsible for the mission severe punishment. From his place at the Dark Lord's left hand, he had watched dispassionately as Lucius Malfoy had meted out retribution. Only the forger had escaped the Dark Lord's wrath relatively unscathed; planting the doubt regarding Percy Weasley's allegiances was considered reasonable success. There would be time enough to target the family again, and sowing discord was…

Severus chased Albus' voice from his mind and reoriented his thoughts. He, too, believed that the former headmaster's portrait was probably awake. It would make a kind of brutal sense; upon "awakening," the portrait would be subjected to interrogation regarding his – Severus' – actions, and there was a good reason for keeping those quiet. The last shreds of whatever neutral reputation he had possessed had been sacrificed to guarantee one key moment in which the element of surprise could turn the final tide. A small enough sacrifice, all other things considered.

_"Pretending we're not debating moral relativism is making me terribly thirsty,"_ another voice in his mind. A voice that would eventually join the others, deciding all questions in favor of the greater good. His voice was among that chorus, for a very different set of reasons, but now…

_Hermione,_ he breathed, flattening his palms over the table where he had watched her work a mere few hours ago. He ran his hands meditatively over the polished, smooth surface. So soft. So hard. Warmed by his hands… Bowing his head, he sat that way until the first rays of sun shone on its surface, into his eyes.

/x/

Damp tendrils of hair still clinging to her flushed skin, Hermione eased into bed as the sun slanted into the otherwise empty dormitory, brushing a hand over the strange new mark on her heart, lingering over the bruises where Severus' sharp, lean body had so desperately tried to subsume her own. She smiled, nestling further down under the covers, then winced as the thousand small cuts from the glass in his urgent hands abraded against the sheets.

She reached to the nightstand for the two-way mirror. Was he back at Grimmauld Place? He'd said it was safe, but she had no idea how long Voldemort would have kept his followers after a failed mission. Resting her hand on the pillow beside her head, she looked at metal for a long time. Definitely it had been a fork, a mundane, utilitarian object transformed by a ruthlessly honed anger into something perfect, then broken, again…

She sighed. Her breath misted on the smooth metal, and she drew it to her lips. _Please be okay._

/x/

Brought out of his reverie by the feel of her breath on his cheek, he tasted her lips against his own before he drew his half of the two-way mirror out of his pocket. As soon as he touched it, he heard her barely breathed prayer.

_"Still awake, I see."_

_"Severus?"_

_"I'm fine, Hermione. Sleep now."_

A mild protest, _"No. Don't go."_

_"I'm right here, Hermione."_ He closed his eyes against the empty room around him that gave lie to his meaning, if not to his words.

_"I know,"_ she thought, already drifting into sleep.

He chuckled tiredly.

_"That tickles,"_ her thought barely a whisper. _"Do it again…"_

Hermione's half of the two-way mirror slipped to rest beside her face on the pillow as, finally, exhausted, she fell asleep, her breath misting its surface.

Still holding his mirror, he climbed the stairs, seeking his own bed, finally, settled, his position mirroring hers, the halved metal disk next to his head on his pillow.

Entranced by the feel of her breath on his neck, Severus slept.


	17. Fade to Black

A/N: Thanks as always to Luna305 and Anastasia.

* * *

**Fade to Black**

_Entranced by the feel of her breath on his neck, Severus slept._

Hermione awoke mid-morning in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory to find Hedwig hooting softly at her. Rubbing her eyes, she reached for the note tied to the owl's leg.

"Hermione,

Glad you found it. (We promise not to tease you about S.P.E.W. any more.) And – thanks.

Professor McGonagall said you're staying at the old Headquarters and doing research. We'll see you when you've solved everything. Don't take too long?

Harry

P.S. Mum and Dad say thanks. Us too. Mum won't stop hugging everyone. It's a bit annoying. – Ron

P.P.S. Remember to eat sometimes! – Ron, again"

She smiled, but in the next moment she had crumpled the parchment in her hand. The boys would never understand. She wasn't sure she did. She ran her hand through her hair and dressed quickly, pocketing her wand and mirror.

A few minutes later she was outside the gates. Crabbe's body was gone. _Surreal..._ She Apparated back to Grimmauld Place.

/x/

_Damn and blast._ Severus was on his feet and Disapparating before the phoenix tear brand on his chest had stopped flaming.

/x/

Hermione was already moving reflexively to the left as soon as she appeared in the kitchen, but, this time, the room was empty. The hand on her throat, the voice in her ear, the pressure – absent. She glanced at the ceiling, and saw the holes made by the forks.

She released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. _It happened._ Then she glanced at the fine scratches on her arms, rubbing her hands over them, one hand coming to rest over the mark on her chest. _All of it._

By the force of habit so long ingrained that it was almost instinct, Hermione headed for the library.

A voice stopped her in the hall. "Good morning, Mudblood filth."

"Good morning, Mrs. Black."

"Walking a bit stiffly this morning, are we?" The portrait cackled.

Hermione gaped at her in shock, then muttered something about "polite conversation."

"A word of advice from an old witch?"

Hermione looked suspiciously at the portrait. "Yes?"

Mrs. Black glanced toward the upper corner of her frame, then back at Hermione, "Coffee."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "Not a morning person, is he?"

Mrs. Black's eyes crinkled in amusement.

As Hermione turned back toward the kitchen, Mrs. Black continued, "And next time? Use a Silencing Charm…"

Hermione fled.

Both hands on the kitchen table, she tried to ease her breathing. _Damn._ That bloody portrait had the biggest mouth in the wizarding world, and with the Order likely to appear at any time… there was no telling when Mrs. Black might decide to herald the details of what Hermione had been doing. And with whom. _Damn!_ She dropped her head and screwed up her eyes. She didn't know how she felt about what had happened, really – she'd hardly had a moment to think, and yet she suspected thinking was not going to help, really… _Breathe… breathe… _- but that made her think of - She slammed her hands down on the table and yelled, "Damn!"

_Pop._

Severus' cloaked presence filled the kitchen door. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, hands hidden, only his face relieving his studied darkness.

Hermione wheeled, furious.

His response to the impending tempest was to cock an eyebrow.

Her eyes narrowed. "Make your own bloody coffee." Sweeping past him and past the still-cackling portrait, she stormed into the library. Picking up her quill, she muttered "Voldemort's 4th Horcrux," and started writing.

"FAILURE TO PROTECT" – big letters, across the page. Underlined so heavily she nearly tore the parchment.

"Failure to protect Lily." _Another crack in his damned soul. Fine._ Her thoughts were like ice. "Cup. Hufflepuff. Accepted all. Nurturing. Protecting."

Still breathing quickly, she stopped writing. Her eyes glittered with undirected anger. _Who did Voldemort kill for this one?_ She tossed her quill aside and stormed back to the kitchen.

Severus was sitting at the table casually sipping his coffee when Hermione appeared in the doorway like an avenging angel.

"And who did he kill for _that_ one? A _mother_? A _child_? A _baby_? People in _love_, people with _hope_, people with everything to look forward to? Who? Who was it!" she demanded.

Severus had the unsettling feeling that he had missed half of the conversation.

"Tell me!" Her cry hung shrilly in the air.

He sipped his coffee slowly and set the mug down with a dull thud that seemed to absorb the echo of Hermione's outburst, replacing it with a leaden silence. "A family," he said.

"A… family." Hermione struggled to bring herself back from the ledge of her anger. "A family."

Severus nodded.

"Oh… oh gods." She leaned weakly on the door frame.

"There was one specific target, of course, but yes."

"Who was the target?" Her voice was deathly quiet.

"Marlene McKinnon."

Hermione shook her head and looked at him. She had no idea who he was talking about.

"Marlene McGonagall McKinnon."

_Professor McGonagall had had a daughter… ?_ Failure to protect a family… Hermione closed her eyes. She knew whose name she'd find next. She nodded sharply and left the kitchen without a word.

/x/

An hour later, Severus ventured into the library, to find Hermione glowering at another completed formula. Her face reflected its malignant red glow. "The predictable bastard," she breathed, and looked up at Severus, an unholy fire in her eyes.

The fear he had struck in hundreds of students was nothing compared to the stab of ice he felt in his heart at her look.

He circled to stand behind her. Reading over her shoulder, he saw the words

_Minerva McGonagall._

One hand on her shoulder, his grip painfully tight.

She turned in her chair and buried her face against the dark wool. "I'm going to kill him, Severus. I'm going to kill him. You can't stop me. Not you, not Harry. Not the whole bloody Order."

Without taking his eyes from the parchment, he grasped her roughly by the shoulders and drew her out of her chair, away from the table, wrapping both of them in his cloak.

They stood that way for a long time, his cloak absorbing the malevolent red glow that was reflected in his eyes.

Pressing her cheek firmly to his chest, his face dispassionate, he was reeling. Did it get easier with time? No. Easier not to show it, yes. Practice made one better at everything, after all, and his life had depended on maintaining an illegible façade more times than he cared to remember. The vacuum of his response ensured that people, most people, would project whatever they wanted or needed to onto him. He had employed such deception against both Potter and the Dark Lord, with equal success.

He moved his thumb on her cheek, just a fraction of an inch. He had had nearly twenty years to perfect the indifference that was his outward response to extreme emotion, light or dark; she had had fewer than twenty hours. Neither his arms nor his cloak would ultimately protect her, any more than the fire of her passion would save him, but it was something, for the moment. The breath and blood and sinew he would sacrifice might buy her, them, the world, a moment. It would be the work of a moment, a moment he'd been stalking for longer than the woman he held had been alive.

Severus Snape knew, intimately, both the worth and the price of a moment. In this one, he held Hermione, her weight warm and tight against him, and he did not move.

Finally, she spoke, her voice muffled and shaking, "You said that you know where they all are?"

He looked down. "I do, Hermione. The cup is at Hogwarts."

She looked up at him. "Hogwarts!"

He nodded, half-expecting another logical leap.

She sighed and leaned into him. "Just tell me, please."

He said nothing.

She waited. "Or not… okay, then. Hidden in plain sight, probably." She snorted. "Of course. The Trophy Room."

"Of course," he echoed, his voice tinged with a sarcastic edge.

Had Hermione stopped to register it, she would have recognized that edge as a compliment, but she was still thinking. "Either his Medal for Magical Merit, or his Award for Special Services to the School."

"One or the other. I strongly suspect the latter."

"Yes, that sort of crude irony would appeal to - " She paused. "Oh, poor Ron. He spent hours polishing Voldemort's soul."

Severus tensed. He had known about Hermione and Ron – all of the teachers had. The youngest Mr. Weasley's affection had been painfully obvious.

Hermione interrupted his train of thought. "Predictable bastard."

"The Dark Lord?"

"Of course. Who did you suppose I meant?" She looked at him questioningly.

He searched her eyes, which were guileless. _Not hiding anything about Weasley, then. So, that innocence remains, at any rate._ "No one." He bowed his head to rest his cheek on her hair again.

Unlike Hermione's open gaze, his action was hiding in the shadows as he made a conscious effort to resist admitting, even to himself, that he had been – for an instant - _Surely not._ …jealous.

"When?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"Just now."

"Excuse me?" She looked at him again in utter confusion.

_Brilliant, Snape._ "You were asking when the Dark Lord make the switch?"

"Yes."

To cover his brief loss of composure at the slip he'd just made, he drawled, "Really, Hermione."

"Oh, fine. It would have been when he returned to the school supposedly to ask for a job. When he cursed the Defense Against the… oh." She stopped herself, remembering what that curse had meant for Severus, for Dumbledore, for all of them. They'd used it, of course, brilliantly, but were still reckoning the cost. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean… oh."

He had leaned in closer and was kissing her hair, his hands drawing her face up to his.

"And what is it that you don't mean," his voice dropped dangerously low.

"I don't intend to remind you of… "

The pressure of his hands on her jaw increased slightly, but sharply. Her breath came with a slight hitch. "It is impossible to remind me of something I cannot forget, Hermione."

She wanted to look down, but his hands held her firmly. She glanced away.

Leaning his face in a fraction, he breathed, "Look at me, Hermione."

She hesitated, but obeyed.

His eyes drew her in, empty and soulless as a snake's. "I cannot forget, Hermione." He pressed a thumb over her heart, insistently, not quite hard enough to bruise, but with enough force to remind her that he could. "And you bear the burden of my reckoning. Does that frighten you?" he breathed.

"Of course it does," she whispered.

"Good."

"Why is that good?"

"More questions."

He felt her try to move her chin, and saw the challenge in her eyes. "Always."

His soul – broken, shattered, but imminent – filled his eyes again, and his touch turned strangely gentle.

_Regret…_ The word came unbidden into Hermione's mind.

"Because I am a man, Hermione. We would both be wiser not to forget that."

"There's no need to remind me of something I cannot forget, Severus." Bringing her hand to his face, she brought her lips to his, and breathed, "Believe me."

He closed the distance between them and, for a time, neither of them remembered anything.

In her frame in the hallway, Mrs. Black sighed and rolled her eyes. Gathering her heavy skirts, she eased herself out of her portrait. She disliked visiting Phineas Nigellus – really, the absence of furniture in his frame was too uncivilized – but it was preferable to…. She sighed again. A moment later, her frame was empty.


	18. Phineas Interruptus

A/N: Thanks, as always, to Luna305 for a lightning fast beta in a thunderstorm, and to Anastasia, for inspiration and attitude. ;)

* * *

**Phineas Interruptus**

_Mrs. Black disliked visiting Phineas Nigellus – really, the absence of furniture in his frame was too uncivilized – but it was preferable to…. She sighed again. A moment later, her frame was empty._

--------------------------

Hermione buried her face in his neck, clinging to his shoulder, the side of his face, the solace of skin. Hands buried in her hair, his thumbs on her temples, his lips seeking, tongue tracing her eyebrow to her mouth, and she tensed and held him tightly, time in an endless spiral. Controlled, no movement, holding her, no movement, now, forever… _Pain_ and she raked his back, pain, sharper, longer, and then he – reaching out, reaching toward, reaching – falling, headlong, in a long, slow, shuddering tremor of blinding endless darkness.

Upstairs, Mrs. Black peered down her pureblood nose toward the floor, waited, then looked inquiringly at Phineas Nigellus. He regarded the floor speculatively, considered for a moment, and finally nodded. Both portraits smirked.

Head resting on her chest, listening to her heartbeat, her fingers trailing down, resting, on his hip – hand clenching, a sudden pressure, movement, and then a sigh, drifting almost voicelessly through his hair...

…and he was in her mind, his chuckle a backdraft of heat.

Her thoughts a low, dreamlike, answering laugh. _"I love when you do that."_

_"Mm."_ He raked his fingers down her sides, and his hands claimed her hips, strong, sudden, subtle, an echo.

She caught her breath. _"And that."_

_"So it would seem."_ One hand lingering on her hip, a reminder of what he could do, had done, would do, when he chose; the other a brush on a lip, trailing to a shoulder, his eyes following his fingertips, a swift caress of a collarbone, a press of his palm, holding, and a slow, deliberate thumbprint on the swirling cloud over her heart.

His thoughts darkened in Hermione's mind, and her reason, which had been curled up in a corner of her mind, was awake instantly.

He felt her alertness in his thoughts, and sighed into her mind. _"I would not have -."_

Her thoughts hardened. _"Would not have what, Severus? This?_ An image of skin, black hair, fingers entwined, a hand, pinning, pressing, arms straining. _"Or the mark - "_ her thoughts gestured toward her chest.

An image of the cloud as he saw it – boiling, smoke. A shadow of a kiss on her cheekbone, resting, moving, his mouth, breath, breathing warm behind her ear. The tension in her body eased and she held him more closely.

_"I've not asked. Does it hurt?"_

_"No – it's just… wind. Blowing. Rushing."_

_"You can hear it?"_

She nodded against his forehead, his lips brushed her ear. _"In my mind."_ She brushed a fingertip lightly down a strand of hair, watching as it reflected the sunlight, as the reflection traveled at her touch. _"Sometimes it screams."_

He clutched her to him, then, his palm on her face, hiding his anguish in her hair, the scent of her skin, the heat of her pulse.

A wordless thought in her mind, a shape, a sound, a movement, a snapping, rippling inky swirl. Something like regret. Something like apology. Something like gratitude. And something like… curiosity?

She pressed her lips to his forehead.

_That burns,"_ his thoughts breathed.

She blew gently where she had kissed. _"And now?"_

A pause – guarded – suspicious. _"Now it doesn't."_

_"Forgiveness works that way."_

He looked at her. Her eyes were dark again.

_"Does logic tell you this?"_ His tone was mocking.

Her eyes crinkled with impatience. _"Those were my tears, after all, Severus. They were forgiveness if I say they were."_

He did not say or think anything that she could hear for some time. Finally, his voice was in her mind again.

_"… and this?"_

_"A cryptic question,"_ she thought, trailing her fingers down his spine. His skin was alive again and he shivered.

An incoherent grumble, in counterpoint with something that sounded very much like _"More."_

_Laughter._

_Grumbling._

_More laughter._

_"That tickles,_ he complained.

_"Then stop being amusing."_

In a flash he was over her, pinning her hands over her head.

_More laughter, of a different kind. "Does that… tickle?"_

He growled.

The two on the couch, and the two in the portrait, were all shocked when something large, heavy, and very, very solid crashed in the kitchen.

Hermione looked at Severus. Severus looked at Hermione. And Mrs. Black and Phineas Nigellus looked at each other, their eyebrows arched to the ceiling. Then they heard voices. In a flash, the two portraits were crowded into Mrs. Black's frame in the hallway.

Severus and Hermione, fully dressed, wands out, came into the hall. "I told you, it's not the wards," he said.

"Someone in the Floo, then?"

"It's not a person, Hermione. I don't know what it is."

"But - "

"Cease your chatter and let me listen!" he hissed.

Phineas Nigellus and Mrs. Black tried to crane their heads around the kitchen-side edge of the frame.

"I'd have your job, you old bat," Phineas Nigellus sniggered, as Severus and Hermione inched past them.

"Mudblood whore," Mrs. Black cackled approvingly.

Hermione shot them a look of exasperation.

"Really, Severus, a Gryffindor." Phineas Nigellus made a dry "tsk" noise.

Hermione glared at the portrait. Mrs. Black drew him back slowly. "Watch out for that one," Mrs. Black whispered. "She's got a nasty right hook."

"And claws," Severus muttered.

"Is it true what they say about the nose, then?" Mrs. Black continued, conversationally.

"Severus, please brew me some turpentine."

"Shush, Hermione."

"Me! What about them?"

In a fluid movement, he had her pressed against the wall, wand arm pinned, arching menacingly over her. "You, I can control."

"Ha."

Her wand was pointing at Phineas Nigellus' ear. He ducked behind Mrs. Black.

Hermione put a hand on Severus' chest and pushed. "Kitchen. Crash."

Severus considered, and countered, "Wall."

Hermione shoved him away harder. "Later."

The portraits grinned lasciviously.

Severus let Hermione go and she pointed her wand at the bridge of Phineas Nigellus' nose. The portrait went slightly cross-eyed. "If you breathe a word of any of this to Professor Dumbledore - "

"He already knows." Phineas Nigellus chortled.

Severus and Hermione both winced, looking for all the world like two Third Years caught snogging after curfew. Phineas Nigellus let forth a sharp bark of what might have been laughter.

"He sends his regards, and a message."

Snape arched a slow, malicious eyebrow.

"He says to tell you that if you hadn't murdered him, he'd fire you for this." The portrait turned to Hermione. "And you, young woman…."

Hermione gulped and leaned weakly against the wall.

"He says that unless you defeat the Dark Lord and save this maudlin old bat from himself, you've no chance of making Head Girl. He gives you a week."

Severus scowled and stomped into the kitchen. Death had not improved Dumbledore's sense of humor.


	19. One Word

A/N: One moment herein is owed to Luna305, who suggested it ages ago. (She's started making noises about writing a fic of her own. I'd like to read it.)

* * *

**One Word**

_Severus scowled and stomped into the kitchen. Death had not improved Dumbledore's sense of humor._

Hermione's looked closely at Phineas Nigellus. "I don't believe you."

Phineas Nigellus crowed with laughter.

"I don't," she said, more firmly.

"Hermione?" Severus called from the kitchen.

She glanced up. He didn't sound terribly worried, just confused. Fine, that could wait. Turning back to Phineas Nigellus, she raked him with an appraising look. Eyes narrowing, she announced, "You're lying."

Phineas Nigellus' laughter calmed and finally stopped. He regarded her curiously, then coldly. "And what," he began, every inch a former headmaster, "makes you so sure?"

"Dumbledore's not that callous. Wasn't. Isn't. He simply wouldn't say such a thing. Not that way. Not to Severus." What he had asked of him had hurt him enough.

"Hermione?" Severus called again. Hermione heard something scrape on the floor.

A few minutes' staring contest and Phineas Nigellus finally grinned. "All right, girl, have it your way. If it makes you feel better, believe that I lied." He smiled wickedly at Mrs. Black. "I haven't had such fun since - "

Hermione's fingernails were on his canvas cheek. Phineas Nigellus flinched.

Mrs. Black interjected, "This is _my_ canvas. His is upstairs!"

Hermione scowled. "It wasn't entirely a lie, was it."

Phineas Nigellus' eyes flicked to her fingernails and back to her face. "No. You can be certain that Dumbledore sends his regards, and that he gives you a week. The rest..." he shrugged.

Hermione pressed the canvas harder. Mrs. Black huffed, but did not move.

Severus emerged from the kitchen and froze at the tableau before him.

"It lied, Severus. I think."

"Slytherins do, sometimes" Phineas Nigellus stated. "That said, the two of you do need to remember your Silencing Charms. You've been rather… rude."

Mrs. Black added, "Purebloods cast them reflexively. To do otherwise is disrespectful. Sign of bad breeding." She sniffed.

Hermione turned helplessly to Severus.

Severus drawled, "Turpentine?"

"Indeed."

He gestured for her to precede him into the kitchen, where her trunk lay in front of the fireplace.

He looked at it, then at her, folding his arms. "I assume there is an explanation?"

"Oh. Well… yes. Right." She could not bring herself to look at him.

"Yes?"

"I'm to stay here while I research. Um… uninterrupted."

"Really." Severus pondered the implications of this.

"Orders." She sat at the table. "I have orders."

"Orders," he repeated blandly.

"From Professor McGonagall." She clasped her hands and stared down at them.

Severus joined her, his face stony. Finally, he said, "A week?"

"A week."

He Summoned coffee. Hermione made a face at it, but picked up her mug.

"It's an acquired taste," he said.

"Dark, bitter, enervating," she mused. "Yes, I can certainly see how that might take a bit of getting used to." She looked at him wryly. His lips tightened in a wan impression of his usual smirk.

Her expression grew serious, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Shall we finish the list, then?" Her voice sounded brittle.

He forced himself to meet her gaze. Not betraying the control he was expending to stay still, not to look away, not to reveal that every fiber of his being was shouting "No," he said instead, calmly, "As you wish."

She met his eyes only briefly, and dropped her head once more. A week.

"All right, then," she said softly. "What's the rest of it? I'll work the equations and report them to…" She bit back the words "the headmistress." Having in a very real sense forged the woman's death warrant, such formality seemed inhuman. "… to Minerva," she finished.

Severus perceived what she had not said, the decision she had made, and what lay behind it. He acknowledged all of this with a respectful nod. The nod she had earned so many times in his classroom, the nod he had afforded her only mentally, unable to offer even that token respect in a room full of Death Eaters' children. _Well done, Hermione._

She smiled sadly.

"The remaining Horcruxes pose additional complexities," he began, the words coming from his mouth as though echoing from some deep, hollow chamber. "The fifth is the snake, Nagini. The sixth… " he paused, then committed himself, "… is Potter's scar."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Harry? Harry is a Horcrux?" Memories of conversations, of Harry's dreams, of his visions, everything flooded back to her. "Of course, yes," she said, distracted by the echoes of conversations in the Common Room, "it does make sense, and it would explain his problems with Occlumency, but…" She looked at Severus suddenly, horrified. "But Harry can't die! The prophecy!"

Severus was careful to keep his eyes on the table. He would not look at her, not now. The table, then. His hands. Yes. That would do. Very appropriate. "Dumbledore did not believe that Harry himself is a Horcrux. Just the scar. No more do I believe that that indemnity will be paid by Potter."

She furrowed her brow. "But the distinction between Harry and his scar – it's academic."

Still looking at his hands, he said quietly, "Dumbledore did not seem to think so."

"Did he explain further?"

"No."

"Of course not." She rubbed her eyes, then muttered, "_Accio quill and parchment. Accio notes._" And, _Accio Dark Arithmantic text I won't have time to learn before…_ Her throat tightened.

Severus watched her work the next formula, not moving, barely breathing, his history, his work, his blood, his passion, his sacrifice, all in her hands, in her mind, running through her quill.

She began muttering, "Voldemort, #5: Nagini, the death of Frank Bryce, the gardener…" she paused for a moment, reaching for a thought, but it refused to stay. "SS: Vow to Narcissa, protection, fostering…" She paused, and wrote, "Guard? Guardian? Caretaker?" She closed her eyes briefly. Easier not to predict. _Just keep working._

He watched her face as she wrote, watched her shut off the knowledge of the next name even as it occurred to her. He should care about this fifth name, but he did not. The sixth, however…

She worked these elements into a formula and set it aside as soon as it had started its long, swirling progress into death.

Her hand shook as she reached for another piece of parchment.

He reached for her wrist. "Not yet."

She tried to pull her hand free, not looking at him. "It's better faster. I won't have to work up the courage again."

_Yes, you will,_ he thought, not taking his hand off hers. "Not yet, Hermione."

"It's easier this way. Best get it over with."

"No."

"I-" she tried again.

In her mind. _"Hermione, please."_

She stopped moving and stared unblinking at the table, her face reflecting the muddy green light from the parchment she had just set aside. His voice: _"Hermione, please."_ Dumbledore's voice: _"Severus, please."_ She shut her eyes. _No._ Her eyelashes were damp, and her eyes, hidden, were full of self-loathing.

He could not look away from her face, bathed in green light. He could not think, could not breathe, until the green had seeped into yellow.

A single tear escaped her eyelashes.

He caught it on his fingertip.

She opened her eyes and saw it there, sparkling, and looked at him searchingly.

A tear takes some time to evaporate. Longer than it takes a formula to resolve. Longer than it takes to ask and answer an unspoken question. Longer than a kiss, longer than conception, longer than death.

Words give shape to silence.

They had none.

They watched it until it dried, leaving a small pinprick of salt on his finger.

Just a tear. Just salt and water. Nothing more.

Nothing more than everything.

/x/

Hermione closed her hand over his. The parchment's glow was deep red, almost brown, and beating very slowly.

_Rubeus Hagrid._

She closed her eyes. She wasn't surprised. His titles, of which he was so proud... The Keeper of Keys and Grounds. Care of Magical Creatures Teacher... _Oh, Hagrid._

Severus watched her closely. It was coming.

Finally, she drew a breath and exhaled deliberately. One more name.

She looked at him then, as if asking permission.

He nodded.

She wrote, "6th. Scar. Lily. Died protecting Harry."

He could not look away.

She wrote, "Draco – failure to protect, failure of mission."

She glanced at him. He nodded. The 6th fissure, and then a final blow. Killing Dumbledore had cracked the fissures wide open.

She reached to tap the parchment with her wand to set the formula in motion toward its final conclusion, then stopped.

She reached instead for his face and kissed him. Once. Softly. For now. Forever.

"I love you," she said.

His eyes still widening in wonder as she tapped the parchment.

They waited.

The tension threatened to tear Number 12 Grimmauld Place off of its foundations. Even the portraits held their breath.

/x/

The ink flowed, broke apart, swirled, and flowed again.

No resolution.

They frowned.

"It's not resolving," he said.

"I see that."

Still no resolution.

"The formula was perfect," she insisted.

"I know."

Still nothing.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I don't know."

She thought. He thought. Eventually she went to the library for a book.

Then he did.

An hour later she went for another.

Two hours later, he brought back three more.

Five hours later, the table creaking audibly under the weight of the books they'd read and set aside, she looked at him.

He was staring at a page, eyes glassy, as if he could by will alone force it to contain information it very clearly did not.

She lay a hand on his arm. He jumped.

"It's not here, Severus."

He re-read the last paragraph and turned a page.

She sighed. "It's not here."

She reached out, gently, insistently taking the book from him.

Something rubbed her knee, and she glanced down. _Lily's book?_

She reached for it and set it on the table.

"I think the answer's in here."

"Why?" he asked sharply.

"Would you believe me if I said intuition?"

His eyes, tired, glittered coldly. "No."

_Ok, then._ "It rubbed my leg."

She heard his voice, in her memory: _Page 394._ She opened it and read, "Isis, Osiris, and Horus."

_Oh, damn._ Even in his memory, he hadn't admitted the existence of...

She reached for the parchment and added "James."

He glowered. Lily's book touched his hand. He jerked away.

"They were a family."

"I know that," he spat, refusing to watch the ink swirl. It was beginning to glow.

/x/

A web of blood, scars, and protection.

They sat in the middle.

She watched.

He just waited.

/x/

A flash of ozone.

She watched.

Fade to red the color of old blood.

He looked up.

Finally, the pulsing heartbeat in the glow. Different. Arhythmic. Out of time.

"Oh, no," she breathed. _Two…_

The first name stabilized.

_Severus Snape._

He acknowledged it with an ironic twist of his lips.

But it wasn't behaving properly; it blurred and resolved into

_Hermione Granger._

She had no time to react before it blurred again, then resolved back into _Severus Snape._

They watched as their names cycled in and out of focus, alternating with the heartbeats.

They looked at each other in confusion, then the dissonant pulses slipped into sync. They looked again.

One word: _You._

The glow intensified, brighter, unbearable, searing.

The parchment burst into flames and fell to ashes.

/x/

Two people sat in the kitchen in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, their hands clasped tightly, although neither would ever know who had first reached for whom. Between them on the table, in a circle of ashes, sat a tiny, ugly, featherless bird. It opened its eyes and emitted one pure, perfect note.

An otter the color of winter starlight appeared on the table, peering curiously.

A jackal, only a little darker, put its paws on the table and sniffed. For the first time in its existence, it wagged its tail.

Then it blushed.


	20. Tayet

A/N: My thanks to the lovely trio Luna305, Mama Ariadne, and Anastasia, as always, and to Melenka for the Walking Shadow mix. A special thanks to emmacrew, who figured out what baby phoenixes eat.

* * *

**Chapter 20: Tayet**

_Between them on the table, in a circle of ashes, sat a tiny, ugly, featherless bird. It opened its eyes and emitted one pure, perfect note. _

An otter the color of winter starlight appeared on the table, peering curiously.

A jackal, only a little darker, put its paws on the table and sniffed. For the first time in its existence, it wagged its tail.

Then it blushed.

_Oh…_

Then Severus was in her mind. _"Don't move…"_

_"That's a…"_

_"A phoenix, yes."_

Hermione's otter extended a curious, translucent paw toward the tiny phoenix. The phoenix tilted its head sideways and blinked, rustling its wings. The otter wiggled its paws in imitation, then looked up at Hermione.

_"…is it Fawkes?"_ Hermione asked, scarcely daring to breathe.

A new note sounded, and in their minds they heard a voice like a single drop of water: _"Tayet."_

The voice was music, and female. They glanced at each other and looked again at the baby phoenix. Tayet.

The jackal, still blushing faintly from its undignified wagging, leaned in for a closer sniff, and Tayet extended her neck to touch her beak to its nose. She sang another note, and the jackal drew back a fraction.

Woman, man, otter and jackal watched as Tayet took her first, tiny step. Blinking at the jackal, she tilted her head. A small pearly tear formed in the corner of her eye, and she touched it smoothly to the jackal's nose. The blush disappeared.

The jackal seemed to think for a moment. Then, very seriously, it wagged its tail again.

Tayet sang another note that sounded, somehow, like amused laughter.

_Lovely,_ Severus thought, with only a trace of his usual irony. The bird was definitely female.

Tayet looked at him as if to say "What did you expect?" She nestled down into the ashes, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. After a moment, the patronuses faded out.

Severus' eyed glittered as he looked at the sleeping phoenix. He didn't dare look at Hermione. The word on the parchment - _"You."_ A problem in a word; in a word, a problem. He exhaled carefully. He did _not_ sigh. He was damn sure not going to start now.

He exhaled again. No. Definitely not going to sigh.

"Well…" Hermione began.

_And now it starts._ He dropped his head. _Just like Lily._

She drew a breath, and gave a shaky laugh. "Well. Perhaps I am going to die because your psyche has more buttons than your frock coat after all."

He did not look at her, and did not return the laugh. _Yes, you are going to die. Just like Lily. And for the same reasons._

He suddenly reached for his lapels and ripped his coat open, off. Buttons scattered to the floor.

Hermione jumped.

Sitting at the table, in a white linen shirt, he bowed his head into his hands.

She watched a button roll away, spiral almost lazily, and drop, finally, to the floor. Keeping her voice low, even, she said, "I was implicated anyway, Severus. Ron and I talked about it a lot, last year. The chances of all three of us surviving were never good. We never mentioned it to Harry, but… "

He looked up. Weasley. Again, a flash of jealousy. _Just like with Lily…_ His face hardened as he tried to shove the jealousy aside.

Hermione watched the subtle changes on his face. "Severus," she said carefully.

He turned away from her, his face half in shadow.

"Severus, before, what I said… I always mean what I say."

Her words echoed in his mind. _"I love you."_ He could not speak. All he could think, all he could see, all he could taste, was, _Just like Lily._ And, _No._

Finally, Hermione stood.

"I'm not Lily, Severus."

His body went tense. She heard it, the friction of cloth on cloth.

He said nothing.

"I'm not," she said simply. "And I'm not going to let you… us… either one of us die."

He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, going to stand at the window. Eyes hard, he saw her reflection in the glass. "As if you" - he drawled the last word, a knife, twisting it - "have that kind of power." He closed his eyes against the wave of self-hatred that broke and ran, running, chill, cold, rising between the pieces of his soul.

"If I don't, we do." Hermione watched his reflection. His white shirt reflected in the window glass, lending his pale skin a strange luminescence. _So broken, and so beautiful..._ "Something made Tayet, after all. Or have you forgotten that miracle already?"

He scoffed, "Miracles are for fools and madmen. You no more know where she came from, or why, than I do."

Hermione was quiet for a moment. Then - "Why did you choose me for this?"

The cold ran free from his soul, gathered again, poised to break.

_No._ But the wave was too powerful. "You were the logical choice. Your mind sees patterns, breaks, inconsistencies. Your questions. Your rogue talent for Arithmancy."

"Professor Sinistra would have served you as well in that area."

"She is not a member of the Order."

"You are a spy, Severus. You could have worked around that to get the information you needed."

The wave was gathering in strength, speeding straight at Hermione.

"There was an element of expediency in my choice - time being of the essence."

"What you mean is that you could overcome my defenses more easily."

He turned then, to look at her, eyes hard, and the wave broke. "I didn't have to. You volunteered." _Just like Lily._

She acknowledged the cold wave in silence. Then, very quietly, she said, "You gave me little choice."

His voice matched hers. "We all have choices, Miss Granger." _Lily had a choice, too._

"'Miss Granger'!"

Her shout rang in the kitchen. Tayet let out a sleepy note of complaint.

Her voice dropping, closing the distance between them, she hissed, "You might as well call me a Mudblood - it's what you did to her. Oh yes, I saw that memory too, Severus. I know exactly what you're doing. And why. And I think it's pathetic." Inches from his face, she stopped. "Harry was right. You _are_ a coward."

His clenched his fist.

She looked him steadily in the eye. "Yes, Severus, be afraid of Harry. Be afraid of me. Be afraid of Tayet. Because we're one and the same. The power that saved Harry Potter is the same power that killed Albus Dumbledore. It's called 'hope.'"

A muscle jumped in his cheek.

"It's also called _'yours'_."

He felt her words like a slap, but his face remained impassive.

She turned her back on him and looked at the sleeping phoenix. "Be afraid of it if you want to. It will probably make little enough difference, in the end."

Thoughts shaking, she reached her mind for the comfort of Tayet's existence. _Hello, little one._ Ignoring Severus, she Transfigured a parchment into the kind of perch Dumbledore had had for Fawkes, cupped her hands around the ashes and the sleeping bird, and set them carefully on the stand. _What's this? Feathers, already?_ "Hm."

Something in her tone pierced the competing echoes of her words in his mind. Bent over the stand, her hair twisted to lie over one shoulder, her eyes gleaming, she was completely absorbed in thought.

"How quickly do phoenixes come to full maturity?" she asked, as though her previous words had not happened.

_She is ruthless..._ "Fawkes would go from chick to adult in a few days."

"Ah…" And her face was alight again, from something internal, something he could neither see nor perceive.

"Hermione, I - "

"Not now. I'm thinking."

"Yes, now," he insisted, reaching for her arm.

She sidestepped his hand, saying firmly, "No, Severus. I need to think. And quickly. We don't have much time." Returning to the table and reaching for her quill, she said, "If you wish to be useful in the meantime, you might figure out what a baby phoenix eats."

His response was as automatic as though she were a professor and he her student. "Fireflies. They eat fireflies."

"Then I suggest you find some."

He was dismissed.

A few minutes later, Severus Snape, sans frock coat, was standing in the back garden of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, angrily waving fireflies into a jar with his wand.

Seeing his own sacrifice confirmed had been no shock. Seeing hers… _"You"?_ Damned ambiguous pronoun.

Hermione had received the indication of her death with an aplomb almost equal to, if less sardonic than, his own. Practical. Pragmatic, even.

_Ruthless._

He could not be as pragmatic about hers.

A peremptory wave of his wand, and several fireflies zoomed into the jar.

He had feared, when she had worked the equation that would result in Molly Weasley's name, when she had inflected the symbol of their joint working with that of the healer, that by imposing her will on events she would become trapped in the web that was drawing them all inexorably toward the end.

A rather rapid end, if Phineas Nigellus could be believed.

Another imperious wave. More fireflies.

Severus suspected that Phineas Nigellus had reported Dumbledore's message accurately enough. _"…if you hadn't murdered him, he'd have to fire you."_

Out of nowhere, he chuckled. _True, on both counts._ Even if she loathed him after what he'd just said. He sobered instantly.

One week. He did some rapid figuring. The dark of the moon, then. The death of the old moon; the birth of a new.

_Bloody metaphors._ The former Potions master had worked for Dumbledore for too many years, in too many capacities, not to know a metaphor when he saw one. And the birth of a new phoenix was a great bloody metaphor, a cacophony of hope exploding the measured cadence of despair.

He scowled.

Metaphors depended on hope for their existence, for their effect. Troublesome. Chaotic. Created in the hope of being decoded later, they were questions asked in blind faith - faith that they'd even reach an ear, never mind find an answer. And the damned things didn't have answers. They just spawned more questions.

Neither subtle science, nor exact art. Bloody riddles. Enigmas. Guessing games.

Logic didn't apply.

He snorted. He preferred knowledge, even when it cut. You could count on pain to be real.

A light wind brushed his hair in his eyes as he looked through the rippled glass window at Hermione, bending over her work, at the curve of her cheek. He squinted, and her image blurred before him.

What in blazes was she up to now?

A firefly crawled out of the jar and onto his finger. He tipped it back in and flicked the jar closed with his wand.

/x/

Confronted with the imminence of her own mortality, Hermione was grimly making a to-do list.

1. Tayet. (Name? Check Lily's book?)  
2. Tell Minerva. – Hogwarts.  
3. Find cup. Transfig. (Minerva.) – Hogwarts.  
4. Tell Molly. (Minerva; Hermione?) (Family? Molly's dec.)

She closed her eyes briefly.

5. How to destroy: Research.

_5. How to kill your friends: Research. How to die: Research._ She rested her head in her hands.

_How to kill him… _She groaned.

Tayet sang a low gentle note.

Hermione looked up to see the phoenix watching her.

The birth of a phoenix could not be just a coincidence. And patronuses did not just appear unbidden. Unless…

Unless…

Unless there was a way around the Indemnity sacrifices - at least theirs - and unless…

… unless they _both_ already believed it was possible.

Only that would explain the spontaneous appearance of both patronuses. Only something so profound as to circumvent the need for conscious memory, for the willing of happiness, for the focusing of a spell… No, they had just – appeared.

It was impossible. But it had happened anyway.

Love? Hermione considered. More than that. Hope. No… even more. She closed her eyes to better hear her thoughts. Passion, desperation, sacrifice. Two names on a parchment. "You." Yes, well. Love, hope, faith. _"Do not mistake Dumbledore's faith for stupidity."_ Dumbledore. Fawkes. Phoenixes. Faith. Belief in the unseen. Unknown. In the impossible.

She shook her head. There was something there, but it was still just a hazy shape in a foe glass. She would find a way around it. She would bloody well create one if she had to.

Hermione looked out at the dim, hazy white shape in the garden.

Tayet cocked her head and whistled, two low throaty notes.

Even as her heart tightened, Hermione couldn't help smiling. "Yes, he is, isn't he?"

Tayet trilled at Hermione, and, apparently satisfied, tucked her beak back under her wing. Growing feathers was tiring. She didn't have much time.

Her plumage ranged the dark end of the spectrum. Dark green. Indigo. Purple. Midnight.

_Apt,_ Hermione thought, rising to join Severus in the garden.

Severus. A problem in a word; in a word, a problem.

* * *

Sources: The thinking behind chapter owes a great deal to the kindness and inestimable wisdom of Fr. Andrew Greeley. He is a constant source of encouragement and inspiration. 


	21. Trapped

A/N: A million thanks to Luna305 for the lively canon debate and to Anastasia for providing confirmation. :)

* * *

**Chapter 21: Trapped**

_Severus. A problem in a word; in a word, a problem._

The door creaked as she entered the walled garden. He looked up.

In the dark, clutching a jar of fireflies, with the wind dusting his hair across his pale face, he looked, to Hermione, impossibly young.

"Patronuses can't lie."

The defensive mask started to slip back into place, but she placed her hand on his cheek and said, "No."

He stared at her blankly for a moment, both hands on the jar between them, then a shift in the way he was holding his head and he nodded.

Apologetically.

Hermione's lips twisted slightly. _Good enough._

"You were speaking of patronuses," he said after a moment.

"Did you call yours?"

"No."

"Neither did I. Have you figured that out yet, Severus?" she said, smiling slightly, wistfully, her fingers losing a battle with the breeze as she tried to keep his hair out of his eyes.

"I presume you have."

"Of course," she ran her fingers more deeply into his hair and held it away from his face.

"And it has something to do with hope."

"More than that."

_Bugger._ He wasn't sure where this conversation was leading, and he wasn't sure if he was a passenger or if he was tied to the tracks somewhere ahead of its onrushing progress. Either way, he wasn't happy.

"They could not have appeared if we didn't believe there was a workaround to the Indemnities. Or to ours, at least. The rest – " she shook her hair out her face. "I don't know yet. Ours was the one we were working on at the time."

_Ours._ "You have decided it's both of us, then?"

"It has to be. If it were just one or the other, the formula would have resolved right away. I had to add… him… " She felt her cheeks flush, but did not move away.

"James," he said, quietly.

Her eyes searched his face. He brought his hand up to cover hers, and leaned his cheek into her palm, looking at her.

"So what is it," he said, drawing her hand to his mouth, "this 'more than hope' you speak of?" He breathed the words into her hand and rested his lips against her palm. "Love, I suppose?" A hint of a self-mocking shadow in his tone.

"Well… um…" her heart was beating faster. Hearing that word in his voice was doing all sorts of interesting and unpredictable things to gravity. _I could just…_ "Well… no, actually. I mean, yes, that's more, but no, it's not what I was…"

His eyes sparkled at her in the light from the fireflies he held between them, then he could not help himself. He threw back his head and laughed, helplessly, a gentle celebration of her confusion. "Just tell me, Hermione." His tone grew calmer, but no less gentle. "Tell me."

"Faith… I think." She glanced at him, wary, anticipating his cynicism.

"Faith." He repeated. Faith, which ran counter to everything he trusted, up to the point at which the impossible happened. Beyond that, he had nothing.

No one did.

"The patronuses were visible evidence of faith. Proof. Of faith. It's a paradox. It's impossible. But - " she shrugged. "But there you are. We can believe in the impossible because we already have done."

"So, all we have to do is do the impossible, then?" - his tone still held an echo of his laughter.

"Yes." She sounded both serious and undaunted.

"Or die trying?" – gently, that note of laughter persisting, deepening.

"Well, yes, that's self-evident," she said, drawn into his voice, her heart warming in counterpoint to the mist that was rising beyond the garden walls.

"Yes, it is, isn't it," he breathed, brushing his lips once more on her palm, parting, opening… tasting… _Salt._

Her breath caught, and, still holding the erratically flashing jar, he reached around her and drew her closer to him.

"And this, Hermione? Is this self-evident?" he said, tilting his face to hers, close enough for breath, his lips a shadow's width away from hers.

"What?" she whispered.

"This."

His lips on hers, a glow – open, warm, soft, brief – real – present – a gift. Asking nothing.

Signifying everything.

She opened her eyes and ran her thumb along his cheekbone, his hand still covering hers. "Severus. I'll find a solution. I will - "

"Tomorrow, Hermione. Tomorrow is time enough for everything."

It wasn't a lie, exactly. Not as long as tomorrow was still the truth.

She opened her mouth. He thought for a moment she was going to argue. He waited.

"Tomorrow," she agreed, and she kissed him.

A low melody arose from the kitchen. Phineas Nigellus appeared in Mrs. Black's portrait frame. He looked at her questioningly. She put a finger on her lips and shook her head.

"I think," she said, quietly, "that they've awakened the phoenix."

"Phoenix?" he mouthed.

She nodded.

"A new one?" he whispered, eyes widening.

She nodded. "I think so."

Phineas Nigellus had not experienced shock in several centuries, so it took him a moment to identify it. Then he nodded. "I'll inform Albus. If that dratted old cat isn't in there," he muttered.

Phineas Nigellus was gone before Mrs. Black could wave him to silence.

She went back to listening. Tayet's first song – slow, mournful, peaceful; a promise of rest – loosened something in her heart she'd held tight since hearing the news of her younger son.

"My baby," she said softly. "My baby."

/x/

Dumbledore listened with peaceful eyes.

Then he closed them and went back to sleep.

/x/

The mist was rising, but it did not spill over the garden wall. The wards were keeping it out. Which meant –

_"Hermione,"_ Severus breathed. _"In the house. Now."_

They slipped into the shadows and into the house.

_"Upstairs."_

Hermione nodded and swiftly gathered Tayet in her hands.

Out of the kitchen, into the dark hall. Past Mrs. Black's sleeping portrait. Up the stairs. Another flight. Another.

Down a low-ceilinged hallway, a pause at a section of exposed brick chimney, his wand out, a muttered word, an opening.

Hermione whispered, _"Accio Lily's book."_ The book flew into her free hand as thought it had been waiting for her summons.

They were inside. The bricks wove themselves shut.

A flame. A lamp. Hermione's eyes were wide but not panicked. "Dementors again."

"Breeding."

"Do you think they're here particularly?"

"I'm not sure. Best not to take the chance." His mind was racing. Assessing. Considering.

He looked at Tayet. "I suspect she changes things somewhat."

Hermione instinctively held Tayet more closely. "The wards?"

"Possibly. The birth of a new phoenix isn't exactly the kind of variable one plans for when constructing defenses. And the emotion involved was…" He looked at Hermione, her eyes alert, calm, focused, yet still, somehow, warm…

"… extreme," she finished for him. "But the Secret… ?"

"… will hide the exact location, yes. But Dementors are hunters. They will have sensed the emotional flare. They know that there is something in the area; something in them scents a feast. They will not stop looking now."

"But the Secret will hold?"

"Probably." He sounded worried.

"Severus… How much danger are we really in?"

"You and Tayet? A fair amount. Random Dementors don't care about the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. They care about food. And - "

"What?"

"The Dark Lord, Hermione. Any change in concentration, any heightening of Dark activity, and he will notice. His attention will be drawn toward Grimmauld Place. The area. And I - "

"Will he order you to investigate?"

Severus nodded. "One of us, definitely. Probably myself."

"How much time?"

He shrugged.

"Oh, dear." Placing Tayet on another hastily Transfigured stand, Hermione stood and stroked the phoenix gently. "What is this place?" she asked, after a moment.

"A bolt-hole. Hidden physically and magically. Most of the old wizarding houses have them. Malfoy Manor has at least six, that I know of."

She looked around. The room was small, the wood bare, the roof beams and back of the chimney exposed. There were no windows. A few trunks, a cracked mirror, a hat stand. A tin box hanging from a beam, suspended by string the color of rust; an alcove on each side of the chimney, separated from the main area by dark curtains whose ends dragged the floor.

"I would have thought wizards would Apparate rather than hide," she mused.

He leaned back against the chimney. "Children, Hermione."

"Side-Along-Apparition works for…"

"Not if there are several." He closed his eyes. He'd seen entire families die when Disapparation could have saved some of them. Their instinct was always to stay together. It was always fatal.

"Oh… she said, sitting down on the edge of a trunk. She looked at him, at the look on his face. "Oh."

He said nothing for some time.

"You didn't fully answer my question. How much danger are you in?" she asked.

He looked at her through hooded eyes. _A great deal._ "Almost none."

"Because you're safe - from them," she gestured vaguely downwards.

That explanation would do. "As much as anyone can be."

"That's good. I mean, it's horrible, of course, but it's good… right now, anyway."

"At the moment it is convenient," he said.

Adjusting herself on the trunk, she muttered, "I would hardly call this convenient."

"More so than the alternative, Hermione. Much more so than the alternative."

She looked at him curiously. "Where do you go when someone comes here?"

He answered calmly. "To his side."

"Oh."

"It's the safest place for me, Hermione. And for now my safety is paramount."

"So why didn't you?"

"Disapparate?"

She nodded.

He closed his eyes, still leaning on the chimney. He'd known what she'd meant, of course. But how to answer, when his reaction had been instinctive?

_Hm._ Honestly. "I couldn't leave you, Hermione." Against his conscious will, his reflexes had been retuned – he should have Disapparated first and thought later. _Dangerous._

But something bigger was forming in his mind. His eyes flicked back and forth as though he were reading the air. "Hermione," he began.

"Yes?"

"Why didn't they Disapparate?"

"Who?"

"Lily and… and James."

She looked at him and her eyes grew wide. "They only had Harry."

"Exactly. So why?"

She thought. "Anti-Apparition Charms?"

"They could have dropped those in an instant, and fled, and lived. It would have been James' first instinct, being pureblood."

"They had to have been trapped." Hermione thought hard for a moment. There was something she half-remembered… something from _The Daily Prophet_… last summer. "Amelia Bones."

"Hm." He turned that thought over in his mind.

"Everyone said Voldemort must have killed her personally… the way he killed… um… yes. Right. Anyway. There was no way out. Muggles call it…"

"A locked-room mystery."

Of course he would know the phrase. "Why didn't Madam Bones Disapparate? Everyone said she was extremely powerful - surely she could have dropped her own Anti-Apparition Charms."

He nodded. "Easily."

They looked at each other, and they knew.

Voldemort was using a trapping spell, something unknown to the general wizarding population, who thus had no defense against it. Something only he knew?

Now they knew that he knew, and he didn't know that they did.

And what they didn't know, they could find out. And use.

Very slowly, they smiled. The smiles were nearly identical. Equally dangerous, equally not nice.

Not because they had an answer, but because they knew they'd found the right question.

One of them, at least.

At that moment, another one of those questions woke up and let forth a piercing, plaintive cry.

She was hungry. And her feathers itched.


	22. Mist to Rain

A/N: A note to readers: Tayet promises she will wake up soon. :)

* * *

**Mist to Rain**

_She was hungry. And her feathers itched._

-------------------------

Severus trailed his finger down Tayet's increasingly iridescent plumage as she settled back to sleep. _Lovely._

She let out a note of agreement.

Severus chuckled softly.

Sitting on a Transfigured armchair, her legs tucked under her, her head resting on her hand, Hermione asked, "How long do you think I'll need to stay in here?"

He shrugged. "Until daylight, probably. If nothing happens between now and then, we can assume that the wards will hold."

"They'll go away then?"

"Not unless something wanders by that appeals to them more… and that's not bloody likely. But if nothing happens tonight… Dementors are efficient. If there's a way in, they'll find it quickly." He looked at her and hesitated.

"What?"

"You would be safer at Hogwarts."

Two evenings ago she and Ron had gotten their pointed revenge on the Dursleys for their ill-treatment of Harry. Two evenings ago she had arrived in the kitchen. Two evenings ago she had fallen into this web, this labyrinth of silence that was memory, myth, and magic, and ever since she had been following the thread laying before her, a few inches visible at a time, her path proscribed by the past and future of this man, this man whose arctic eyes and infernal passion both repelled and compelled her.

She would be able to see the Thestrals now. She wondered what they looked like. Even the illustrations in the Care of Magical Creatures sources she'd checked remained blank, until…

She ran her fingers over her eyes. "Safer at Hogwarts. Yes, I suppose I would be. But how long will Hogwarts remain safe without my work here?" she smiled, a sad smile, to be sure, but the courage in it, her acceptance, her commitment – all were unmistakable.

"Succinct, and accurate." His eyes reflected some new measure of respect, and the last traces of some old shadow fled from his features. _Innocence lost._

"Besides," she continued, adjusting in her seat. "Do you have any idea what effect Apparition might have on a fledgling phoenix?"

"No."

"Me neither." She rested her head on her hand again and closed her eyes. Lily's book nudged her. Sighing, she opened her eyes. "Hello, there," she said to it tiredly, and opened the back cover to thumb through the index..

Transfiguring the broken mirror into a seat for himself, and the hat rack into an ottoman, Severus sat back and steepled his fingers.

_Faith._ He snorted. He was really out of his element.

She looked up, and he waved her back to the book. "Read," he said.

He looked more tired than she felt. _Of course he does._ She turned to the middle of the book.

"Tayet," she began, aloud. "Goddess of Weaving."

"Webs." He snorted, beyond irritated.

She glanced at him as if to say, "What did you expect?" and continued reading. "Associated with Anubis, funerary rites, and the underworld, via the cloths used in mummification to bind the body and spirit for its passage." _Binding. Spirits. Souls. Oh, gods._

He snorted again. _Really._ If it hadn't been completely impossible, he would have suspected the meddling of a certain former headmaster. It simply reeked of the kind of thing he would have enjoyed.

Hermione continued reading. "Represented in funeral rites by a linen curtain" – she looked, involuntarily, at the strangeness of Severus Snape in white – "hung in the chamber of Anubis, symbolizing the liminal point between…" _Bloody hell._

He looked up sharply, just as she let the book fall to her lap.

"… between the known and the unknown, I presume?" he drawled. Had Dumbledore been alive, he would even now have been flowing up the spiral stairs outside his office, spoiling for another tempestuous debate on the relative merits of order and chaos.

He was definitely in the mood to argue with Dumbledore.

Eyeing Hermione speculatively, he decided she would do in his stead.

She was gazing at Tayet, her mind roaming freely. _Tayet and Anubis. So, she looks to him, then._ She felt a pang of envy, which she promptly squelched. He needed the phoenix bond more than she did. Still… she sighed, her hand coming up to trace the circle on her heart.

Her sigh – or, more accurately, the memory of her breath on his neck, that last night –  
drove the argument he was preparing out of his head. _Chaos._

She couldn't feel it through the cloth. She listened with her mind. The wind in the image was gusting, rushing, its "voice" – for so she thought of it – no longer screaming, just a low, distant keen. _That's an improvement, at any rate._

He watched her hand, hypnotized as she undid one of her buttons and pulled the cloth aside.

She glanced down to check it. The circle was, perhaps, slightly more full than it had been. Not by much; just enough that she didn't doubt her perception. She pursed her lips and rested her chin in her hand, one finger curled over her mouth. So much still to be done. How to destroy… how to heal… how to… her eyes closed.

He watched her sleep.

It was the longest time he'd gone without consciously directing his thoughts since one Saturday afternoon twenty years before.

Lily's book seemed to sigh in Hermione's lap as it slipped out of her hands. Silently, he caught it before it hit the floor.

Its bloodstained cover warmed under his touch, and, resting his arm on the back of Hermione's chair, he leaned his forehead on the book - feeling the rough weave on his skin, the worn corners, a thread from a frayed corner brushing his eyelashes.

_Lily,_ he thought. _I'm sorry._

The thread flicked to his cheek. It might have been moving in his breath.

_Forgive me._

The thread brushed his eyelid closed, lingered, and was still. It might have stopped when he stopped breathing.

Tayet murmured a soft, sleepy note.

He started breathing again. He opened the cover, and read the inscription one more time. He smoothed his hand over the page, lightly outlining the witch's smile with his fingertip, stopping to rub his thumb over the wizard's too-small, wrinkled robes… He started to close the cover, then stopped, closed his eyes, and raised the book a last time, to breathe the scent of the slow, spiraling steam.

As he inhaled, It changed.

Before, it was autumn.

Now it was rain.


	23. Yesterday and Tomorrow

A/N: Thanks to Luna305 for beta-during-thunderstorm (crazy wench), and to my partner in "Don't flinch yet; ok, now would be good; helLO, what are you thinking," Anastasia, who saved Snape from me, me from Snape, and me from myself in this chapter.

**Yesterday and Tomorrow **

_Before, it was autumn. _

Now it was rain.

Severus felt his heartbeat, steady, as he breathed in the scent of rain. _The first time is the hardest._ He held the book in his hands, watching as it shrank, smaller, smaller, growing darker, blacker, his blood on it joining, shrinking, a red spot moving to an end, tendrils extending, shrinking, smaller, and finally, it sat on his finger, antennae waving, its light glowing, then fading.

"Tayet," he said quietly, so as not to wake Hermione. He extended his finger carefully toward the phoenix.

Tayet's eyes opened, black, glowing, hungry, reflecting the yellow-green light. She followed the light, alert, opening her beak.

He tipped the firefly in. He supposed it was a kind of immortality.

Tayet looked at him questioningly but made no sound. He touched her head gently, and she closed her eyes, leaning into his finger.

His expression was unreadable, and there was no one to read it.

He sat on the floor and rested his elbows on his drawn up knees, lacing his fingers together loosely, examining them through a fall of wind-blown hair. His eyes were alive with a newfound lack of doubt and a lack of reserve that still spoke deeply, resonantly of the tremendous will and force behind them. His eyes would never be innocent, but it had been a lifetime since they had been this clear.

He looked up at the sleeping witch, and around at the Spartan room in which they would spend the next several hours. He was damned if he'd spend it sitting on a bare plank floor, watching her sleep.

A low noise in his throat. Predatory. Paradoxically tender. Oh, yes. A bit of… hm… rearranging was definitely called for.

The curtain over one of the alcove rippled as the room behind it became larger. A fresh, insistent wind blew from Severus' wand and the air in the bolt-hole changed, grew cleaner, deeper, softer…

He paused, and changed the curtain from non-descript, dusty charcoal to the rich, deep red of glowing coals, a dying sun.

He looked at the ceiling, considering, then gathered his will. Slowly the ceiling transformed into an opaque, swirling cloud from which a gentle green rain fell, disappearing before it touched the floor.

He considered Hermione's sleeping form, and her clothes became a heavy black silk cloak, wrapping her in cool simmering midnight indistinguishable from his own

He dropped to his knees before her, his arms on either side of the chair. Leaning in to the smooth hollow of her neck, he exhaled her name, warm, on her skin.

She awoke, alive.

"After the initial release, one often finds that subtlety has its own, even greater rewards," he murmured, hands drawing the silk up her arms, chill, slick, soft, warming under his hands.

"Severus," she whispered.

Hands sliding around her shoulders, he gathered her close, stroking the silk against her, a rustle, an enticement, a promise. Hands wrapped in silk to her face, drawing the cloak with it, inside, nervous, aware, each breath a friction against the impossibly smooth seduction…

_His cloak?_ fleeting, thought, gone.

Thumbs moving the silk on her face, hands hidden, covered, in the endless folds… her eyes open, looking to his, black, deep, impossibly warm, blazing, comforting, terrifying. She gasped and turned her head, suddenly, surrender, leaning her face into his hands, rubbing the silk against his fingers, friction, surface tension drawing it over the back of his hands.

"Yes, Hermione." His voice an incoming tide, tangible, patient, unsatisfied.

His hands firm on her face.

"Look at me." His voice barely audible.

Deep in his eyes, filling them, toward her, of her, for her, she saw him dream in his eyes.

And she was broken, terrified, gentled, powerful.

He saw it all.

He knew she could say no; she knew she couldn't.

They were both right.

"Do you want this, Hermione? All of this?"

She had no words.

Small smiling lines appearing at the corners of his eyes, he asked, "No?"

His silk-entangled fingers pressing, dragging the cloak down her bare arm… "Or – I think – yes."

She nodded.

…and across her collarbones…

…down to her heartbeat… and over… silk in silk drawing silk aside, exposing, brushing skin, lightly, cool, chill, friction, skin tightening, warming…

"Yes," she murmured, her eyes not taking her eyes from his.

"Surely, it cannot be that you have no questions…" he drawled, amused.

She tried not to ask. (Knowing hands not touching rustling drawing silk moving silk, silk falling open, closing, folds of silk changing - shiver - patterns, cool… _Just feel…_)

She really did try… But – yes – questions. (The play of silk… _Just feel…_) "When we - before… when you - it was… desperation, sacrifice, blood… yes?"

He smiled, a knowledgeable smile. _Innocence lost._ "What you are really asking me is if, when I took your innocence, so roughly, was it beyond my control?"

Silk moving slowly, sudden –

- she caught her breath – and whispered, "Yes, that's what I'm asking."

"That was passion. Life, flying in the face of death. My passion, and also yours - " he arched his eyebrows and moved, deliberately…

- silk - slow… Her breath shuddered.

His voice, low, careful, "Was it beyond your control, Hermione?"

…chill …smooth …skin open, outward, reaching - She shook her head, and whispered, "No, it wasn't."

He drew his silk covered hands across her chest, covered, not touching, but –

"Real passion isn't pretty, Hermione."

Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back, her throat, an offering.

His eyes glittered.

- a corner of the cloak drawn quickly, firmly down her neck – "No, not pretty…" he whispered. "I filled you with the echoes of my fractured soul, and you forgave me and I made you scream, Hermione. I made you scream before I ever touched you and yet you let me touch you again."

- a whisper of silk – "I wanted you to."

"When I took you, on the floor, and held you, trembling, shaking, lost… and you sighed, you cried out… I am alive in your breath, Hermione, in your voice… "

His hands – still silk – on her sides, smoothing, down - and -

"No, passion's not pretty. It's dangerous. It breaks. It opens. What I did to you, for you, because of you; and what I may yet have to do… so very wrong, in so many ways - And yet - Hermione, believe me…" his voice dropped, urgent, impossibly low, and the silk, hands, slipping, on her skin "…as I took you, and you held me, perfect, whole, unbroken, and it was wrong - I enjoyed it. You. Us." His hands tightened, possessive. "Immensely."

The wind, the silk, the breathing, the heartbeats – silent.

His voice rich, resonant, full, silk up her neck, under her chin, behind her ear…

"Nothing here is beyond my control, Hermione. Nothing, except…"

…his hands firm, strong on her hips, his lips warm on the corner of her eye…

"... except you," he finished, glorified, resigned.

Both hands heavy with silk, he drew her towards him, to her feet, closer, and his hands, then, skin, under the cloak, warm, around to the small of her back, pressure, closer, the linen rough on her skin, inflamed, wool, scratching, the silk, cool…

She leaned into him, felt his body, covered -

He smelled rain.

She opened her eyes and looked up. She saw the clouds on the ceiling, whirling in concert with the mark on her skin, the mark whose voice was no longer keening, just circling, an endless sigh, relief, pain, pleasure, relief, pain...

"I made you my shadow, Hermione," he murmured. "I buried my emptiness within you; you forgave me, and I branded you with your own forgiveness. This vacuum, this storm," he looked at the sky, "it's mine. It's what I have left."

She nodded.

"But I can give you what I no longer have."

He turned her toward the curtained alcove, standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her, keeping the cloak closed against the circling wind.

She had a wild imagining of what lay behind it. "And that is?"

"Myself."

He waited. His hands twitched on her arms, tightened, revealing his uncertainty, his trepidation.

She leaned back, into him, eyes glinting, smiling when she knew he couldn't see. "What you're feeling right now, Severus? That's called 'hope.'"

He tensed, but her mercy was swift.

"And my answer is yes. Of course it is." She took his hand and drew him toward the curtain, very gently adding, "You maudlin old bat. What did you expect me to say?"

/x/

It's not actually impossible to lie about love to someone who has the evidence of your broken soul emblazoned over her heart, but it really is the height of bad taste.

Not to mention cruel.

For once, and for reasons he didn't fully understand, Severus wanted to say something, but he was at a loss.

He lay thinking for a long time, running over the possibilities. _"I might love you, if I could"?_ That would simply not do. _"I don't love you, but only because I can't"?_ No better. _"You probably will save this maudlin old bat from himself, but we'll both probably have to die to accomplish it"?_ Accurate, but hardly appropriate, given the circumstances.

He scowled, and thought some more.

Finally, he found his voice. "Hermione?"

She curled against him, drifting, aware. "Mmm?"

"Hermione, I -" He didn't seem to be able to finish.

Her eyes narrowed in the dark. _He is not going to say that._ "Don't - " she began.

"Hear me out," he insisted, irritably. "And do listen carefully."

She knew that tone. She rolled her eyes, which he could not see, but nodded against his chest.

"Hermione, it's too soon for truth, but it's also – " he swallowed nervously, "it's much too late to lie."

She frowned as she puzzled it out.

Then she hit him with a pillow.

He raised his eyebrow in the darkness. She didn't need to see him to know that he had.


	24. Movement

A/N: A spiffy new quill to Anastasia, who sees what ends up on the cutting room floor - I could not ask for a better writing partner. Special thanks to Melenka for her wisdom, and to my beta Luna305 for her patience.

* * *

**Movement**

_He raised his eyebrow in the darkness. She didn't need to see him to know that he had._

A misty dawn was breaking over Grimmauld Place, and Severus kept his silent vigil over the woman in his arms, in the low light from the cloud circling above. Somewhere beyond it, on an imaginary horizon, the sun was rising.

Hermione had fallen asleep, hours earlier, her breath on his neck, warm, smooth, even.

Odd.

His arm had fallen asleep shortly after Hermione did, but he refused to move it. True; in his world, not being able to feel that particular arm was something of a blessing. Not being able to feel Hermione's skin was almost an even trade.

Almost.

He had never held a woman while she slept.

He had never watched a woman sleeping.

He had never felt a woman's breath on his neck, calm, satisfied, triumphant, vulnerable, and known what it was to dream, watching her dreaming, wondering what she was dreaming.

She whimpered in her sleep, and he hoped it wasn't about him.

And then she smiled, and he hoped it was.

He held her closer, deliberately tracing the graceful, complicated pattern of her hair as it lay on his chest.

He leaned his head against hers and didn't worry about his arm.

The feel of her hair on his cheek, though. That was… bothersome.

Her lips, parted, warm on his neck – also bothersome.

And the feel of her body in his arms, still half-tangled, where she had fallen, collapsed, laughing - _A glorious descent…_ - most unnerving. He was nearly certain that the road to hell was paved with Hermione's laughter.

But… _… a pillow?_ he mused, turning his thoughts of her over in his mind. _That will not happen agai - oh, bugger._ The bloody otter. Playful. He grimaced. It would almost certainly happen again.

Bad enough that she was brilliant. Bad enough that the blood magic he had not consciously invoked – another thing to figure out later – that it held them bound in ways that were still a mystery. _Another tie… _Bad enough that she was water, rain in the wind.

But really, an otter? Infuriating.

Setting his thoughts to "barely tolerant," he wondered, briefly, if her patronus would change.

Probably not. It was just the kind of irritating thing she wouldn't do. No, Hermione Granger's patronus would not change. Not even if she had really fallen in…

He inhaled through his teeth. Fingernails.

Hermione was waking up. Her eyes were soft, sleepy, and…

_… hungry?_ He chuckled, and, reaching his good arm over her, cupping her shoulder, he drew her onto him. Absent her weight, the blood rushing back into his arm flamed almost as badly as a Dark Mark call.

Waking, she was feeling. And, feeling, her body remembered, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. She still wasn't fully awake.

One arm aflame _Just blood…_, the other languidly stroking her back, Severus felt her remember, and laughed, low, rich, and dark.

"_Do that again,_" she requested, not entirely politely, in his mind.

A reflex - _Occlumens._ His eyes searched her face, alarmed.

"_I don't think that will work right now,_" she thought, seriously, still not quite awake.

Aloud, he said, "You are no Legilimens, Hermione."

He received an image of her looking around, as if in a room, arms open. "_Beg to differ._"

"How?" He half sat, leaning against the headboard, and she looked up at him grumpily before finding and settling into position that was comfortable.

She curled with her head in his lap. "_How should I know? I sort of woke up in here, and all of the reference books are downstairs. Come back inside, Severus. My thoughts are getting cold._"

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"_Fine,_" he growled in her mind. "_But rest assured we will discuss this further, later._"

Her thoughts laughed at his irritation.

If it was the road to hell, and if he had any farther to fall, he had no plans to saunter vaguely downwards. A few more hours before she had to report. _"Hm..."_

She caught his tone. "_Good morning to you, too._"

"_Isn't it._"

"_You're in that kind of mood, I see._" She sounded… delighted?

"_Bother._"

"_Yes, I rather suspect you'll find that I am._" She shrugged. "_Most people do._"

What he wanted to think was "_I am not most people,_" but what came through was _"Skin might just be better than coffee._"

Both. Both would be good.

He refused to contemplate the fact that she might be a morning person.

"_I'm not. I do my best work at night._"

"_Really,_" he thought dryly.

He found the fact that when she blushed all of her did rather intriguing.

Hermione reached for a pillow, and in one lithe movement he had her on her back, hands held over her head with one hand, and the other...

"_Don't even try, Hermione._"

She laughed again, and then, some time not too long later, she cried his name, a challenge to the inevitable and indifferent sky.

"_Glorious…_"

He had forgotten that she could hear him.

They both had forgotten that Tayet could hear too.

The phoenix swept into the room, circled, and landed on the headboard, watching.

"_Blast!_" and "_Oh, dear_" ricocheted off of each other in their minds.

They winced.

Tayet trilled. It was a glorious morning, and she felt like flying.

Launching herself off of the headboard, she aimed for the cloud.

_Thud._

"Squerk!"

Tayet landed on the bed between them, looking embarrassed.

They both erupted in laughter in each other's minds.

Tayet did an avian impression of Severus' most intimidating scowl.

They laughed harder.

"Well, it's not the way I expected that to happen..."

Severus arched his eyebrow.

"You laughing, inside my mind." Hermione stretched. "Still. It is rather an amazing feeling."

/x/

_Accio buttons. Reparo._ Severus looked out the open window to the garden where Tayet was practicing gliding, apparently oblivious to the mist that rose outside the garden wall.

So far she had shown no signs of wanting to venture further than the garden, for which he was obscurely grateful. She had executed one or two acrobatic dives that had put a lump in his throat. _Damn bird's feathers barely have the ashes off them,_ he grumbled to himself, _and already she thinks she can play Quidditch for England._

Tayet zoomed through the window to chatter a trill at him, then zoomed out again.

Severus snorted, bemused. He considered his frock coat for a moment, then set it aside. It was rather a touch warm for wool.

Summoning another mug of coffee, he turned a chair around and sat at the table, leaning his arms on the chair back. He drew the stack of parchments to him and, sipping his coffee, began, dispassionately, to consider the problem of how to destroy the inanimate Horcruxes.

/x/

"I assume that is your report, Miss Granger?" Minerva looked up from her work, then peered more closely at Hermione. There was something different about the girl.

Hermione swallowed. "The location of the fourth Horcrux, and…" her voice came out scratchy, and she finished very quietly, "… and the next name." She handed the parchment over and stood, waiting. _I can't look. I have to look. I don't want to - _

Minerva inhaled sharply, once, and dropped the parchment on her desk. Instinctively, she looked to Dumbledore's portrait. He was snoring softly.

"You're…" Minerva's throat was dry. "You're sure?"

"I – I'm afraid so, Headmistress." The title was another thing entirely in this office.

"Well," Minerva began, her voice a shade off from its usual brusqueness. "That's a bit… unexpected. But - " She cleared her throat and glanced out the window, toward the Quidditch pitch, seeing something older than today through the diamond panes. "Yes. Well."

Hermione looked at the floor, at the wall, at the Sorting Hat sitting, quiet, on the bookshelves.

"The connection?"

"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked.

"The connection between me and Hufflepuff's cup, child," Minerva said, her tone even more clipped than usual. "If I am to… hm…" she swallowed. "Forgive me. If I am to function in this capacity, I should like at the very least to know why."

Hermione thought, irrationally, that were it not for the fact that the headmistress' eyes were bright, one might have thought she had just caught four First Years out of bed after hours.

"The connection. With Molly and the locket, you said it was 'motherhood.' What is it this time, Miss Granger?"

Hermione could not look at her. "Marlene."

Minerva sat back, weakly. "What did you say?"

Hermione glanced at the headmistress. She had gone nearly transparent. "Marlene. It was her… them… that he… Voldemort… in order to… " She couldn't finish.

Minerva stood and walked haltingly to the window. Quiet for a moment, she watched the pennants flying over the pitch. _How often I've remembered… _"She loved Quidditch, you know."

Hermione glanced up, nervous, wishing she could decide what to do with her hands.

"My daughter. She played for Gryffindor with Potter. James."

"She was in a picture. Mad-Eye had it - "

"Yes. She was in the Order." Minerva swallowed, leaving her memories reluctantly and returning to the present. Turning to face Hermione, she almost smiled, almost apologetically, and said, "You still haven't told me the connection."

"Headmistress, I… I… Minerva… "

Minerva drew herself up straighter. "It's all right, child. Whatever you have to say can but sting, in comparison."

Hermione hesitated, but said, "I believe that the connection is… well… failure. Specifically, a failure of protection."

Minerva's hands twitched, and she stared at Hermione.

Dumbledore's portrait shifted in his sleep.

"_I'm sorry,_" Hermione whispered, unwilling to look away.

After a moment, the headmistress' proud bearing seemed to deflate. "Yes," she said to herself. "I could not protect any of them. Marlene, her husband, my… my grandchildren." She returned to her desk somehow older than she had been a moment before. Gathering her wits, she continued, "I tried, of course, but - " she reached for her quill and the stack of parchments she had been working on when Hermione arrived. "But I failed." The quill paused. "Of course. That's obvious, isn't it."

Hermione watched as Minerva McGonagall transformed slowly back into her usual professorial demeanor and said nothing for several minutes.

When this most subtle transformation was complete, and Minerva spoke again, it was with the voice of the head of the Order of the Phoenix. "Have you any idea yet what the destruction of the Horcrux will entail?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Or its location?"

"It's… um, it's here. At Hogwarts - in the Trophy Room."

Minerva looked as though she'd eaten something particularly sour. "Presumably it is Transfigured?"

Hermione nodded, apologetically. It was a particularly nasty irony. "Probably Tom Riddle's Award for Special Services to the School; possibly his Medal for Magical Merit."

"I shall call Alastor in and we shall examine both." _Damn you, Riddle._ A flinty resolve grew in her eyes, revealing a fierceness of which Hermione was both a little frightened and, obscurely, proud, seeing another facet of what made the older woman a true Head of Gryffindor. Minerva continued, "He does have a crude sort of pointed predictability, Hermione. That becomes clearer with each new bit of information, and hinges with the findings of others, and with recent developments."

_Developments?_ Startled, Hermione asked, "Is Harry okay? The Weasleys?"

"There was a minor altercation last night in Hogsmeade – the Aurors received a tip regarding plans to attack an unknown target, and made several arrests. Based on your analysis so far, I think it is possible – probable – that the planned attack was aimed at me."

"Professor McGonagall, do you believe that Voldemort knows we know about the Horcruxes?"

The older witch sighed tiredly. "I wish I knew, Hermione. I devoutly hope he does not."

"It's uncanny."

The headmistress nodded. "Indeed." She eyed Hermione speculatively. "You had no knowledge of last night's events when you arrived this morning?"

_Last night's events. Oh, gods, not another one of these conversations,_ Hermione thought, panicking slightly. _Not now._

Minerva saw the girls' cheeks flush slightly, saw her breathing rate increase. "Hermione, I am well aware that you have a contact of whom you will not speak."

_HELP,_ Hermione thought frantically at Dumbledore's portrait.

He didn't move.

"And I understand and respect your desire to keep your association and the nature of your interactions a secret," Minerva continued.

_This is so not happening._

"But, child, I must warn you, again, about the Dark. You are in very real danger of seduction."

This last warning completely overwhelmed Hermione's acting ability. Blushing furiously, she stared at her feet.

"Whereas I will not press you for information as to his – or her identity… " Minerva was watching Hermione closely, and her blush deepened slightly at the word "his." "…it would be most helpful to the Order were I to have some idea, at least, of the position your source enjoys."

_Position!_ Hermione's thoughts reached out wildly for balance. She concentrated on her breathing, knowing that the actual information Minerva was requesting was crucial, indeed.

"I believe, Headmistress, that my… ah… source is positioned quite close to…" _Bloody hell!_ Her brain provided the phrase "the top," but she absolutely refused to speak those words for fear of losing her composure completely.

Dumbledore's portrait coughed in his sleep, and Minerva looked up hopefully. _Still asleep. Oh, Albus. We have much to discuss before I join you on that wall… Wake up, wake up._

But Dumbledore's portrait continued snoring, smiling as though he were having a rather pleasant dream.

Turning her attention back to Hermione, Minerva said again, "I understand. You trust the information – or, in this case, the lack of it?"

Hermione nodded.

The headmistress weighed the merits of her earlier suspicions regarding the source's identity. _Yes, very likely young Malfoy; probably through his family connections. The information will be erratically timed, then, but reasonably reliable._ Aloud, she said, "Very well. A position of strength, then."

Hermione gulped.

"That will be sufficient for all but the most sensitive purposes."

Hermione wished devoutly that this interview would end. Without moving her head – she was terrified that she would do something, say something that would betray… well, everything – she searched Dumbledore's portrait with her eyes. One eye screwed itself more firmly shut than the other. _A wink! Oh good gods!_

"Headmistress?" she ventured.

"Yes, of course, you will wish to return to your research."

Hermione said nothing. It seemed the best course.

"It is absolutely crucial, Hermione, that you not overlook even the smallest detail."

Hermione nodded.

"Very well." The headmistress hesitated. "I will not speak with Molly until you know more about what the process is likely to entail. Do please be careful."

Hermione nodded, and turned to leave.

"Hermione, I - " There was a strange note in Minerva's voice, one Hermione had never heard before.

Hermione turned.

"Thank you, child." The voice of a mother.

Hermione's eyes filled with sudden tears. "Minerva… I'm… I'm so sorry," she said, her voice ragged, but firm.

Minerva nodded. She'd heard the force, the fierce commitment in the girl's tone. And – perhaps – something that was almost… _Protective?_

Sighing, Minerva reached again for her work. War made them all older than they should be. Even the children. Especially the children.

When the scratching of her quill reached his ears, Dumbledore's portrait peeked through his eyelashes at his successor. Masking a sigh behind another snore, he closed his eyes again.


	25. The Best In Us

A/N: My eternal gratitude to Anastasia/ttfs for reading this very, very late at night.

Note to readers: If oxygen is needed, a phoenix will fall from the overhead compartment. Please put your own phoenix in place before assisting those traveling with you.

* * *

**The Best In Us**

_"We can believe in the impossible because we already have done." _

"So, all we have to do is do the impossible, then?" - his tone still held an echo of his laughter.

"Yes." She sounded both serious and undaunted. – Chapter 21

/x/

_… Dumbledore's portrait peeked through his eyelashes at his successor. Masking a sigh behind another snore, he closed his eyes again._

/x/

In the kitchen at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Severus' coffee was cold. He sat, still, eyes unfathomable. He reached automatically for the cup, oblivious to its utter lack of warmth.

"There was an attack planned last night. On Minerva," Hermione said, accusingly, appearing in the kitchen. "They were stopped in Hogsmeade."

Severus spurted his coffee over his mug and hand.

"Did you not know?"

Muttering a fast cleaning spell, he did not look at her. "Hermione, you know very well where I was last night, yet you – apparently – wish to blame me?" Damn the woman; she was impossible.

Hermione's eyes were still snapping, but she faltered.

"In my position I am sometimes compromised by the fact that the Dark Lord does not tell me everything. He is, after all, a reasonably capable strategist. I? Appear near Hogwarts? Do endeavor to _think_."

Tayet flew in and landed on the table, looking calmly at both of them.

In the hallway, Mrs. Black strained to hear.

"Yes, of course, Severus," Hermione snapped. "I shall _endeavor_ to think. Heaven knows it's a strain for me, but for _you_, I shall certainly _endeavor_ to exceed my usual dunderheaded standards."

She turned on her heels and wheeled out of the kitchen.

Neither one of them remembered that she had Apparated without setting off his phoenix charm.

Tayet, claws clicking on the table, walked up to Severus and poked her beak at his heart. She tilted her head at him inquiringly, hooting a question that was equal parts amusement and concern.

Severus' eyes widened. _Bloody ridiculous bird. Ridiculous woman. And what the hell is wrong with my heart?_ He pulled his shirt aside and looked. Faintly outlined on his pale skin, the white circle of phoenix tears was still present.

Tayet trilled, and flew out of the kitchen after Hermione.

"Who let the purple chicken into my Ancient and Most Noble House?" Mrs. Black cackled. The night she had spent dreaming of her past, of her humanity, was but a fleeting memory; still, some of the acid was gone forever from her tone.

Her sense of humor, however, was likely to remain constant. Severus scowled at her as he stalked past.

"And – ooooh, the bat's in a temper."

He paused. "Are you by any chance related to Peeves, Mrs. Black? Shall I consult the genealogy of which you are so… understandably… proud?" He arched and eyebrow at her as she sat in her frame, speechless, and spun away.

The absence of his cloak did nothing to dispel the illusion that something rippled behind him as he strode away, an elegant figure of feral, restrained power.

"Lucky little Mudblood," Mrs. Black muttered.

He paused in his progress. "I heard that," he intoned, and turned to face her once more.

Undaunted, she met his eye squarely. "You were meant to. Obviously."

His eyes sparkled with black amusement, although some shadow lingered there, untouched. He inclined his head, and went to find Hermione.

Mrs. Black turned to find Phineas Nigellus sitting next to her. He glanced after the departing wizard and shook his head gravely. She frowned.

Hermione wasn't in the library. Severus rested a hand on the banister and looked up through the open stairwell. Not on any of the landings either. Sighing, he Apparated into the bolt-hole.

No Hermione.

He sat on the still-rumpled bed in the curtained alcove. _"Tayet?"_ he thought, not sure that this method of communication would work.

Distantly, he got an impression of aching sadness, which grew as he tracked it silently through the house.

He found Hermione in a deep window-seat in one of the third floor bedrooms. Tayet was perched on her knee, whirring at her as she absently stroked her wings.

Hermione turned her face away as he paused in the doorway, brushing her cheeks with the back of one hand. "Have you made any progress on how to destroy them?" she asked, her voice empty, an echo of itself.

Severus supposed he should have expected that question. He stood in the doorway, uncertain as to whether he should answer the question or address the deeper one of her distress.

Tayet looked at him as if to chide him for standing still.

He crossed the room and leaned on the other side of the window. "Some," he replied evenly.

Hermione stroked the phoenix, wishing that his presence could ease the emptiness she felt. _Molly. Minerva. Hagrid._ She leaned her head on the window glass. "And?"

He hesitated, then sat in the other end of the window recess. She shifted her feet to make room for him. Tayet rustled, but stayed perched on Hermione's knee. Hermione continued to stroke her wings.

Severus reached a finger out to Tayet, touched her feathers, and then covered Hermione's hand with his own, stopping her movement.

_Oh, no._ Hermione swallowed and closed her eyes. Severus having to touch her to talk was never a good sign. The glass was cool, smooth against her forehead. _This is how my friends are going to die. Ron's mother. My favorite teacher, the one I wanted to be like… _"You've figured it out, then."

"Yes. It's rather simple, really," he said quietly.

"Simple," she repeated dully, her voice hollow.

He rubbed his thumb over her hand, on the line where her fingers met the phoenix's wings.

"They need only take them through the Veil, Hermione."

Hermione caught her breath, and the light from the window blurred beneath her eyelashes. "Wh – Why can't they throw them through?"

"Dumbledore tried, Hermione. The Horcruxes have no agency, only soul – only something that possesses intent can pierce its barrier."

"So… oh, gods, his hand."

Severus moved his thumb, gently. "Yes," he said softly.

She lifted her head and looked at him. "But that means they don't have to die at all… oh… but - Oh." She leaned her head back on the windowpane.

"I could delay their deaths, but Hermione, that was Dumbledore's choice. It may not be theirs. And it would be… complicated, given my situation."

Not looking at him, she said, "He stayed, in part, for you, you know."

As soon as she said it, he knew it was true. He held himself very still, knowing, then, how Draco must have felt under his whip.

Hermione was silent for a long time, picturing the Veil, a grey center in a grey room, an innocuous, almost trivial, bit of fabric, silent, almost no substance, moving slightly, always moving, gently, timeless… not watching, not waiting, just… there. Whispering.

Severus' breath whispering on her skin. Severus' hair whispering on her skin. Severus' fingertips whispering on her skin.

Severus' voice whispering in her mind.

Fleeting. Soft. Simple.

_"You are in real danger of being seduced."_

Her throat tightened.

The question was in the air before she could think to stop it. "And the rest? The animate Horcruxes? Nagini, and… " She couldn't say it aloud. She looked the end of the question at him.

He saw it in her eyes – fear, acceptance, rage, denial, courage. He drew one knee up and wrapped his arm around it. His voice low, careful. "The snake is straightforward. The Dark Lord tends to keep her close. It is unlikely that any but a direct attack will succeed, and unlikely that Hagrid will survive his retribution. He will be… weakened, inevitably, long before he reaches Nagini."

Hermione leaned her head on the window again, seeing Hagrid's eyes crinkle and his beard betray his encouraging smile… _"Our Hermione,"_ he had called her. _Oh, Hagrid._

"Of all of us, Hagrid is strong enough, resistant enough to get close enough," Severus continued.

"And only Minerva can handle the Transfiguration," Hermione caught his train of thought and continued it. "And only mothers can match the mothers' sacrifices. As Dumbledore was father and grandfather, to all of us; his strength his wisdom… and Ginny… her trust, her innocence… They're requiring the best we have in us."

Finally, unmoving, she spoke. "I'll tell Minerva. Tomorrow. Unless you think - "

"Tomorrow's time enough, Hermione."

She knew tomorrow for the lie it was, but nodded anyway.

Then something in the quality of his silence made her turn her head to look at him.

He was waiting, watching her. And his eyes seemed to whisper something that he could not say, asking her something, asking her to ask.

"And us?"

He had no answer he wanted to give that would not be a lie.

"Potter's father died buying her a chance to run."

"I'm not going to run, Severus," she said quietly.

"No," he agreed, too easily.

She looked at him, startled.

A deep, rasping breath, then - "The equation doesn't balance that way, Hermione. It's not a one-to-one mapping. There's an inversion. One over seven; seven over one. You are not the inverse of Lily."

Mind a swirling mass of white noise, she searched his face, grasping at the fractured shards of order, forcing herself to focus, to race through the memory of the formulas, seeking the edge she needed, the one that would cut her mind, would sever her from hope unless she could do the impossible and fight it, knowing equally that all would be lost if she failed, that they would lose everything in victory.

He waited.

And then she found it. "You. You counterbalance Lily. You have all along."

He nodded, and only years of rigid self-control allowed him to hold her gaze. If she had the courage to face this, he owed her the courage it cost him not to look away.

"I… I balance James," she said slowly.

He nodded. "Yes."

Her eyelids dropped and she seemed to search for something. The best that was in her. _Love, then. The kind you'll die for… ? Do I have that in me?_ She looked at him, waiting, his hands, his face, his eyebrows, his eyes, watching her. _Might as well face it, Granger._ Finally, she returned his gaze, which had been steady, if guarded, throughout her inspection. _He knows it, too – or he will, in a minute. Steady… _Her voice strangely clear, a tone from a bell, high in a tower, resonant, a call, a reminder, a comfort, and a challenge. "How. Tell me how."

Had he not been broken, he would have been undone. "Patterns, Hermione. Echoes. Inversions. I've played them out, all the variables, the scenarios, the likely arrangement of the principle actors, the choreography of the dance… For you to… live, long enough, to survive until Nagini dies, you will need to be protected, until... The best person to do that is me."

"How, Severus," a note of steel in her tone, the blade with which she was keeping everything else at bay.

"And then… when it is time…"

An Unbreakable Vow, a Compulsion - only these could have forced his next words from him.

She watched his soul, in all its shattered beauty, fill his eyes.

"When it is time, Hermione, I will kill you."


	26. Point Counterpoint

A/N: Special thanks to Melenka for a pinch-hit beta and a grateful nod to Indigofeathers for an excellent music suggestion. TimeTurnerForSale's contributions are myriad and fundamental - I've run out of eloquent ways to thank her; this will have to do: Ariadne makes a low, sweeping bow.

* * *

**Point / Counterpoint**

"_When it is time, Hermione, I will kill you."_

Tayet crooned, softly, plaintively, and looked from Severus to Hermione and back.

Hermione's eyes emptied until their depths matched his own. "Oh. Okay… Okay… Oh."

He didn't dare move – he just sat watching her, the shards of his soul tearing him, from the inside.

"I - " she began.

Tayet crooned more insistently, and stretched her beak out to poke Hermione in the heart.

Hermione ignored her.

"Hermione, I… " Severus began, then stopped.

Tayet poked Hermione again, harder.

"Tayet, what," Hermione said, returning as if from across illimitable distance. "Oh."

She pulled her shirt aside and looked at her mark. The circle was darker, blacker, and – very nearly – filled.

"Well," she breathed. "It seems that I'm going to restore your soul by dying. At your hand." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Lovely. What an _honor._"

"An honor I share," he said, darkly, his voice breaking corners at impossible angles. Almost to himself, he added, "Mercifully, I will not have to live with that memory for long."

"No…" _Oh, gods. After he… Oh, gods, Severus._ "No, I suppose you won't."

Tayet threw her head back, opened her beak, and let forth a long, wailing cry.

Severus and Hermione looked at her.

She launched herself off of Hermione's knees, her talons ripping the denim, drawing blood. She circled the room once and vanished.

"Ow."

Severus' hand was over the wounds instantly, murmuring, healing.

She reached up and brushed his hair off of his forehead, and, at her touch, his arms were around her, crushing her awkwardly to him, his head collapsed on her bent knees. His hold was almost painful, but she didn't wince. She continued to stroke his hair away from his forehead, his hair falling back, away, falling back, a black whispering, always already falling. He groaned.

"Shhh," an arbitrary sound. "Shhh. I forgive you." More arbitrary sounds, arranged, conveying meaning. It was all arbitrary, all arranged, a monstrous algorithm cleaving meaning, creating meaning, an allegory for something, and for once she didn't know. "I forgive you."

He held her for a long time, cheek pressed on her knees, clenching her shirt in his bloody hands. Without knowing, not knowing, she took his hair, falling always, already falling, and, dividing it, began braiding.

The pain had cleared part of her mind. "We'll find a way, or not. But we will."

"Hermione," Severus began, entranced by the weaving motions of her hands in his hair. To still those hands… her eyes… her mind… no more questions… rain… His voice broke as he tried again. "Hermione - "

"Shhh, Severus, faith, remember?" Her hands froze mid-motion, and he looked up.

His eyes widened in fear at the look on her face.

"Oh, no."

"Hermione?"

And, unbidden, a memory of the night before, of the morning after, flooded her eyes, and she let his hair fall and put her hands on his shoulders, dropping her head, reaching out for him with her mind.

Her mind touched his; the same memory. Suddenly he was tired, very tired, and very, very angry.

She rested her cheek on his head and murmured, "Faith, Severus. The best that's in us. You already have hope – a broken soul isn't what prevented that, just your... history. And… " her tone changed. "Love. Well, I have that…"

He raised his head, and she looked at him, slightly apprehensively.

Severus' arms tightened around her, even as he was disconcerted by the shadow of the girl replacing the woman and then disappearing again.

"Severus, Lily's sacrifice was made in faith – faith that Harry would live to fulfill the prophecy, but she was no more blind than Dumbledore. Between the two of them, they placed the future of the world on your shoulders – they had faith in you, yes, but for both it was based on knowledge." She let that sink in before continuing. "Thus the Indemnity requires of you your faith. A faith equal to Lily's. From you." A weary, mirthless laugh.

"Ah. I see your point – that may very well be impossible, given - "

Tayet reappeared with a furious screech.

"But the beauty of it is that you can believe in the impossible, because you already have done," said a calm, polite voice. "And given appropriate circumstances and ample motivation, Severus, who can deny that more may be possible than not?"

At the sound of the voice Hermione and Severus both froze, looking at each other, then they turned, slowly.

"How wonderful to see you both again," said Albus Dumbledore. He was sitting in Phineas Nigellus' portrait frame.

Hermione and Severus jumped away from each other.

Dumbledore smiled. He had never seen Severus Snape blush. "Wonderful."

Tayet gave a self-satisfied trill, and tucked her beak back under her wing. Growing feathers was tiring, after all, and popping about from place to place had made her feel vaguely ill. Flying was much more the thing. Thinking about flying – there was something moving in that blue moving lake by the castle, and maybe she could catch it, maybe it might taste good, the sun sparkly on the water… – she fell asleep.

/x/ 

Mrs. Black elbowed Phineas Nigellus sharply in the ribs. With her bustle and his absurd pantaloons, her frame was crowded. "What is he telling them up there?"

"I'm sure I have no idea," he said, affronted.

"Phineas Nigellus," she said sharply, "don't use the headmaster tone with me. I was in Slytherin too," she reminded him.

"At this precise moment I have no idea what he is telling them," he expanded.

She glared at him. "Obviously. But the gist, Phineas Nigellus. The gist. Surely you know that much."

Phineas Nigellus smiled wickedly.

Mrs. Black gathered her skirts and prepared to switch frames, but he caught her by the bustle and yanked her back.

She slapped him. "You lecherous cretin, how dare you!"

He glowered at her, then withdrew to the far edge of the frame and crossed his arms, wondering how long Dumbledore would need his frame.

For a time, silence reigned on the ground floor.

"I could just - " she began.

"No."

"Just to the hall."

"No."

She huffed and refused to look at him for at least a quarter of an hour.

Behind the glower, Phineas Nigellus was amused, but no Slytherin is ever truly patient unless in the service of some greater plan, and even then it was a question of appearing to bide one's time rather than accepting long passages of it. Centuries in an administrative office, even a magical one, will put a thin veneer of patience on even the most cantankerous of personalities, but it was, finally, only a veneer.

He looked at the ceiling. He wanted to know, too.

/x/ 

Severus found himself at a loss. How to apologize for killing the man who had ordered him to. How not to want to kill him again for… everything. How not to crumble, how to express relief, how to hide his connection to Hermione, how not to hide it… Stuck in a shifting quicksand of agony and absurdity, he said nothing.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore began kindly, "an awkward moment, indeed. I would think a greeting would be sufficient."

"Albus, I- Good afternoon, sir." _Sir?_ He swept his hand across his eyes. Chaos.

_He calls him "Sir"?_ Belatedly, Hermione remembered her own manners. "Good afternoon, Professor. We've – I've missed you." She smiled at him, just a smile, just sad, just relieved.

Dumbledore turned to her and returned her smile, gently. "Good afternoon, Miss Granger. I trust your family are well?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, good, most excellent Grangers. Very scientific, very logical."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Severus, if you would do yourself the great service of not fretting overmuch about killing me - for which I've not thanked you properly; my apologies - we have an important matter to discuss." He looked over the top of his spectacles at the two of them deliberately not touching each other – "Or, perhaps, two matters; yes, yes, two, I think... and very little time. Phineas delivered my deadline, I understand, and, as I do not imagine that he can keep Mrs. Black from eavesdropping for much longer, let me proceed. What I have to say to you both must be held in the strictest confidence."

Severus snorted, but not unhappily. "You were ever a force of chaos, Albus."

"And you far too married to order, Severus. Far too married. Until you weren't."

"At which point you would always take the other side of the argument."

Dumbledore nodded his calm agreement. "There are always aspects of one in the other, Severus. Your insistence upon binaries… To be expected, of course, but… "

Hermione had the feeling that she had missed most of this conversation. Which she had, of course; it had begun right around the time she was born. _Oh, dear._

"Miss Granger, there is no need to blush. As Professor Snape – ah, yes, therein lies the crux of it. As Severus is no longer your professor, at least, not at the moment, and as I am no longer headmaster, I will not pass judgment on you. Either of you. This is war." Disconcertingly, he smiled. "I must confess, though, I have enjoyed your conversations with Minerva. Well played, Miss Granger."

Severus arched an inquiring eyebrow at Hermione, who blushed harder.

"Don't ask. Just – don't."

Dumbledore continued, "Language itself, its interplay of light and shadow, sense and nonsense - a point in favor of chaos, is it not, Severus?"

"More to the point, what is yours, Albus? If indeed you do have one," Severus drawled, finding some semblance of equilibrium in the familiarity of their long-standing debate.

"I should have thought it was obvious. Simply this: have faith. Both of you."

He smiled at them calmly.

"That's _it_?" Hermione blurted, astonished.

"Not quite, Miss Granger."

_Canvas cannot twinkle. That just impossible._

Very seriously, Dumbledore eyed Tayet, before continuing, "Do remember that having once believed the impossible it seems quite likely that one may do so again." He looked at them gravely until they nodded, then he beamed at them. "Excellent. One more thing, before I go. For the creation of a most charming phoenix, 50 points to Gryffindor. And, to Slytherin, 51 – for the phoenix, and one to grow on." He chuckled, and the frame was empty.

His voice echoed in the empty frame. "Not a word to anyone. Especially not Harry..."


	27. Timing

A/N: Anything remotely exciting in this chapter is dedicated to the divine Anastasia.

* * *

**Timing**

_His voice echoed in the empty frame. "Not a word to anyone. Especially not Harry..."_

A fire glowed in the hearth and Hermione and Severus were surrounded by books in the library at Grimmauld Place, working on the trapping spell. Tayet was perched on the mantel, occasionally preening, occasionally gliding over to the table where they were working. Feathers itched, and she was not a patient bird.

In the hallway, Mrs. Black and Phineas Nigellus were playing rummy. Mrs. Black was winning.

At the Burrow, Arthur and Molly were enjoying a cup of tea while Harry, Ron and Ginny were outside stargazing under the watchful eyes of Tonks and Kingsley. Everyone's clock hands were still stuck on "mortal peril." Molly didn't even look at it any more.

At Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall and Alastor Moody were in the Trophy Room, blinking before a noxious cloud of oily smoke. As the smoke cleared, a badger device was plainly evident on the side of a cup. It had been the Award for Special Services to the School after all.

In the Entrance Hall, Argus Filch was scratching his stubbly chin. He could have sworn that the giant hourglasses had been emptied after term, and now Gryffindor and Slytherin appeared to be nearly tied. "Ruddy teachers," he grumbled to Mrs. Norris. "Always messing about."

Hagrid was sitting in the Forest with Grawp, roasting something on a stick over an open campfire. Grawp looked up at the sound of a twig breaking and grunted. As silently as he could, Hagrid put down the stick and reached for his crossbow.

A tongue of red flame suddenly shot between them. Grawp charged into the underbrush.

"Grawpy, no!" Hagrid bellowed, doing his best to dodge the spells that were arcing from every direction.

The campfire burned down slowly, oblivious to the sound of cracking limbs, falling trees, hoarse shouts and gurgling cries that died away to nothing.

A little bit before midnight, Grawp and Hagrid returned to the campfire scorched, bleeding, but still whole, Grawp swinging the body of a dead Death Eater by the ankle.

"We got to get back to the castle, Grawpy. Get yer things."

A large boot kicked dirt onto what remained of the campfire and stomped out the remaining coals, and the forest was dark. Eventually the night noises started up again.

/x/

Hermione's hair was escaping from her usual messy knot, and a long curl swayed every time she bent to make a note. Severus found himself staring at it as it brushed her neck. Her hair glowed warm in the firelight.

Tayet glided over and landed on his book. She looked from him to Hermione and clacked over to Hermione and tugged the curl with her beak.

Without taking her eyes off of the page she was reading, Hermione twisted the curl back into the knot and absently patted Tayet.

Satisfied, Tayet, looked at Severus, who closed his eyes briefly and went back to his work. Tayet glided back to the mantel.

/x/

"Another hand?" Mrs. Black asked Phineas Nigellus.

He nodded.

/x/

Hermione eyed the stack of books on Severus' side of the table. He had reserved most of the Dark books for himself, and she had, uncharacteristically, not questioned his decision.

She looked at his face, which was impassive, only his cold eyes revealing that whatever he was reading was testing his self-control. Seduction or repulsion; he was keeping one or the other at bay.

She had no idea which one. Maybe both.

She looked at him some more, at his hand curled on the book's spine, fingers splayed on the cover, the other, ink-stained like her own, twirling the quill one way, then the other.

One way – pause – the other – pause – one way – pause –

His hands. The memory of what his hands could do. Something in her abdomen tightened. The thought of what his hands would do. Something in her mind cringed.

She wondered if it hurt to die.

Tayet glided over and rubbed against Severus' quill hand. The hypnotic motion stopped. Tayet looked apologetically at Hermione, and glided back to the mantel.

Hermione sighed soundlessly and bent back to her own book.

/x/

"I knock on 2," said Phineas Nigellus, laying down his cards.

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Black inquired, stealing a glance toward the library.

"Quite," he replied.

She lay down her cards. All were in sequence or in groups, save the ace of hearts.

"My hand," she said.

They both sighed.

/x/

"If you were in Molly's position, would you want to know earlier or later?" she asked suddenly.

"I am, and I do know, and my own answer looms so large that I cannot answer that question for anyone else," he said, not lifting his eyes from the page.

"Okay."

/x/

"Gin," said Phineas Nigellus.

"You were bound to win one eventually," said Mrs. Black. "Law of averages."

"Again?"

They looked toward the library, and Mrs. Black began shuffling.

/x/

Some time passed.

"Why does Dumbledore insist on secrecy? Especially with Harry?" she asked.

Reaching for a different text, Severus said, "Do you really think the Order would let me live long enough to convince them of my real part?"

"Maybe," she replied.

"Really?" His tone was deceptively light as he opened the book. "And how many of them would I have to neutralize in order to remain alive until they were convinced?"

"Moody, certainly. Fred and George. Ron. Oh. Yes. That wouldn't exactly make your case, would it."

He continued, "And if by some unthinkable miracle it did, do you believe Potter would not betray my allegiance before the Dark Lord, at the end? Even a glance would be enough, Hermione." He looked over the top edge of the book at her. "Is he that good an actor?"

She had to admit he was not.

He dropped his eyes. "The element of surprise is crucial, Hermione, and not just for the Dark Lord. For Potter, as well."

/x/

Harry looked at Ginny's hair, alive in the dim moonlight, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

/x/-

In the empty office, Dumbledore looked calmly at the waning moon.

/x/

"Shall we, dear?" Arthur asked.

Molly smiled, put her knitting away, and took her husband's hand.

/x/

"Hagrid, he simply cannot stay in the castle, but I agree that you both must remain within the grounds." Minerva Transfigured a few rocks into a shelter. Her wand hand trembled slightly.

Neither Hagrid nor Grawp noticed.

/x/

_To hell with it,_ Harry thought, reaching out to touch Ginny's hair.

But at that moment, Ginny laughed at something Ron had said, turning her head. Her hair just brushed Harry's fingertips before his hand curled around air.

/x/

Severus was reading a text so old that it hardly qualified as a book. The pages had been cut from a scroll before being roughly sewn together. He sat up straighter, suddenly alert, and re-read a section. "Hermione."

She looked up. The circles under her eyes were bruises in the lamplight.

"Foris Clausa. The closed door."

She reached for it, but he held up his hand.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't touch it. Just read."

She nodded, but asked, "Why?"

"This codex will kill any Muggleborn who touches it. The Curses on it are arcane – I cannot even make notes from it, not even in summary."

She sat on her hands.

She started reading. Foris Clausa was a foundation spell, a spell which initiated a pre-determined sequence – in this case, to trap a witch or wizard for the purposes of casting the Killing Curse. "The Foreclosure Curse – the only way to release it is for the original caster to cast Avada Kedavra – else it traps its own caster." She scanned the rest of the page.

He nodded.

"Why isn't this a listed Unforgivable?"

"I suspect no one remembers it. The state of this book suggests it may be the only copy in existence. Possibly it was listed at one time, and got buried in its own logic. If the caster fails, he dies; if he succeeds, he casts another Unforgivable, and the question becomes rather academic."

"Oh, dear," she said, still sitting on her hands. "Um… could you maybe… " she gestured with her chin.

He drew the book away from her and set it safely on his side of the table.

She brought her hands back to the table and looked at him for a moment.

He saw the combination of terror and courage in her eyes. Devastating. He reached for her hand.

She looked at him seriously. "You'll be able to cast it?"

He just looked at her.

"Foris Clausa, I mean. It requires intent."

He knew what she meant.

She would not release his gaze.

"Yes," he said quietly, his thumb a caress on her hand. "I'll be able to cast it."

Something in her gave way. If she had to die, why did it have to be him? "Why you, Severus?"

His tone was clinical. "Potter's success depends on timing. I can control that."

She inhaled sharply.

"And I won't allow anyone else to touch you, Hermione. If it is all I can give you, I can give you a clean death." He covered her hand with his own, then withdrew. "The others – his followers – would use you first, to make you suffer. I will prevent that."

"You can control both? The timing and… that?"

"I believe so."

"And if you can't?" she pressed, struggling to keep her voice from rising.

"Then I can still control the timing."

The hair on Hermione's arms raised. She knew that was the right answer, the only answer, but… She swallowed nervously. "Severus," she said, after a moment, "you'll have to mean it. The Killing Curse."

On the mantel, Tayet tilted her head, and said, "Whirp?" Her voice was liquid, low.

"The Vow, the Compulsion – for Potter to succeed, the Indemnities must be satisfied; to protect him, and his mission, I will do it, or I will die. The knowledge that I am protecting you from something worse will prevent my choosing the latter, in the moment." He paused. "It has before."

"Dumbledore," she said.

He nodded bleakly.

"And… after? You… what will happen to you?"

"Well, it is possible that one of the other players may attempt revenge. Moody" - his lip curled - "if he is there, if he survives, he will certainly try. He's been thirsting after me for years." His eyes glinted sharply - even eagerly.

The sight threw Hermione briefly back into First Year Potions.

Severus' memories were darker, and lasted longer, and they ended, as they always did, with Dumbledore. Forcing himself back to the present, he continued, "I will probably be alive to the end, and then the victor will kill me. The Dark Lord, for failure; Potter, for success." His lips twisted at the irony.

She watched him as he looked at the dark window.

He exhaled. "I suspect that in the end things will happen rather quickly." Mostly to himself, he added, "They will have to."

"Whirp?" Tayet asked again.

That broke the moment.

"I don't understand how any of this will neutralize the scar Horcrux," Hermione muttered.

"I don't know, Hermione. The scar that connects Potter and the Dark Lord belongs to the two of them; I suspect that depends on Potter. Once it is neutralized, the Dark Lord can be killed, and it will be over. Or it may work the other way around." His voice softened, tightened. "No matter what is happening between us, Hermione, you and I are not the main actors."

She thought about that for a moment, and then he saw resolve grow in her eyes, in the set of her jaw. "Oh, yes, we bloody well are."

/x/

Mrs. Black laid down her cards and shot a triumphant look at Phineas Nigellus. "That's game," she said.

/x/

Tayet glided to Severus' shoulder and looked at him very seriously before rubbing her head on his cheek. Then she turned suddenly and began to preen, warbling at him for assistance. She was one day old, and she was growing as fast as she could.

And everything itched abominably.


	28. Will

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Corazon - wishing you a speedy recovery! hugs Thanks to Luna305 for being an exacting beta.

* * *

**Will**

_"No matter what is happening between us, Hermione, you and I are not the main actors." _

She thought about that for a moment, and then he saw resolve grow in her eyes, in the set of her jaw. "Oh, yes, we bloody well are."

/x/

_She was one day old, and she was growing as fast as she could. And everything itched abominably._

/x/

Severus was stunned. "'Yes, we bloody well are'?" he repeated, stunned. "Hermione, it doesn't work that way."

"Severus," she said sternly, "the end will be about Harry and Voldemort. Fine." She waved her hand dismissively. "Harry will do what Harry will do, Voldemort will do what Voldemort will do, and meanwhile the rest of us will… what? Lie about like Puffskeins, hoping we get stepped on at the proper time? Host an elaborate drown-our-sorrows fest? Skulk in the shadows, bowed, not broken, dignified, courting and cursing our own _meaningful_ ends?"

His eyebrows had been edging upwards since the word "Puffskeins"; now they seemed to be permanently lodged in his hairline.

"Thank you, no. There are ways around all of these Indemnities. Dumbledore would not be bloody twinkling unless he thought so. He loved us, Severus - _all_ of us, maybe especially you – yes, you. You are absolutely the kind of infuriating creature he would take perverse delight in loving."

_Perverse?_

"Yes, perverse. No, Severus, not Legilimency. I've spent the last six years of my life decoding your face, Harry's sulks, Ron's moods, and Dumbledore's wise, cryptic nonsense. I read Professor Umbridge, and Cornelius Fudge, and knew it was a trap at the Ministry. I have been wrong once - _once_ - when I was eleven years old." She paused for breath, rattled; she'd been wrong about him and the Sorcerer's Stone – but she wasn't going to tell _him_ that.

She didn't need to; his lips were already twitching and his eyebrows were slowly re-accustoming themselves to gravity.

"This is insane, Severus, absolutely insane. For six years I've been assimilating into a world I didn't bloody well know existed. Why do you think I read every bloody book in the library? And now I'm stuck in this house - "

And his eyebrows shot up.

"With _you_, my former _teacher_,"

He flinched.

She raised her eyebrow at him. "It's a little late to flinch, Severus. Really." And she was off again, up, away from the table, hands on her hips. "You know damn well I'm falling in love with you and I know damn well why you can't say the same in return. You've been using yourself, Severus - you, who've been used by everyone, what's one more? - using yourself as bait, to trap my mind, my heart, my soul, and my - " _Just say it, Granger._

_Restraint, Snape..._

"… and my body, and it's worked, oh, gods, how, and I've fallen, - "

_Glorious,_ his thoughts groaned.

" – completely, irrevocably, and it's wrong, and I love it, and I love you, and it doesn't matter, because I'm going to die, you're going to die, we're all going to be dead because no one will say his name, or your name, or that prophecies are absolute bunk – just excuses masquerading as explanations. A grand inevitable plan, a sop to everyone's cowardice. 'I don't have to do anything; the Chosen One will do it for me, poor dear boy.' Which is just letting Voldemort's choices dictate reality because it's easier than _thinking_." She snorted. "Sheep," she said with distaste, then turned, eyes aflame, "Well bloody hell, Severus, but who are the current architects of that grand plan now? Who? I ask you!"

He felt it would be prudent at this juncture to say nothing.

"We are, Severus. We are." A sweeping gesture, encompassing him, Tayet, their notes, the books, themselves. "We have all the pieces – I know we do – it's the way Dumbledore's mind works – and the way you were counting on mine working. Don't question faith, Severus, not when it's standing right in front of you."

Tayet crowed triumphantly.

"All I wanted was to go to _school_. To _learn._ It's what I _do._ And I learn very, very quickly." she spat finally, and glared at him.

One eyebrow this time.

"Stop that. You know what I mean."

"Indeed. That does not, however, negate my response."

"Don't distract me. I'm about to make a grand pronouncement."

Of this he had no doubt. He did, however, hold the thought of distracting her in reserve, and not too far in reserve, either. She was really quite spectacular.

She turned on her heels and sped to the kitchen.

_What? Blast._ He went after her, demanding, "What are you doing?"

"Taking this war to Voldemort, Severus," she informed him, as if she were late for the Hogwarts Express and the First Years were running amok on Platform 9 3/4.

"What?" He lengthened his stride.

"I'm Flooing Minerva… "

He stopped in front of Mrs. Black's frame. He, Mrs. Black, and Phineas Nigellus exchanged a look, a look that required no translation because it had not changed in centuries – the look of Slytherins in the presence of a rampaging Gryffindor.

Tayet zoomed into the hallway.

"… and then I'm…"

The kitchen door swung closed behind her, and he was through it like a shot. "And then you're what?"

_Thud._ Tayet hadn't flown fast enough.

Hermione looked at him with another look that had not changed in centuries, a particularly Gryffindor look, though only seen rarely from the males of the house. It was the look she had given Draco Malfoy. Once.

Draco would run before it, now, although he would seem outwardly to be walking.

Severus was not Draco. He closed the distance between them, captured her lower back with his hand and pressed himself against her. Very quietly, he said, "You were saying?"

"And then I shall burst into flames if you don't kiss me," she smiled. _That_ smile.

He laughed throatily. "Floo Minerva." He dropped his voice and hissed one word into the skin behind her ear. "Hurry." He caught her skin between his teeth closed them, sharp, not painful, and she felt his tongue on her skin and –

- her hands flew to his arms, clenched, hard -

- then she pushed him away.

"Oh, I will, Severus. I will." Her eyes searing, slow, before she turned to reach for the Floo powder. "One thing."

A rumbling sound that she took for an affirmative.

"Do you know where you can lay your hands on Peter Pettigrew?"

It was definitely not the way he had hoped that question would end.

A very aggrieved looking Tayet appeared and landed on the table. She glared at the kitchen door, glared at Severus, rustled her wings, and preened her tail feathers.

/x/

"Headmistress?"

Minerva looked up from her paperwork at the sound of Hermione's voice from her private quarters. Rising from her desk, she hurried to the hearth.

"Miss Granger? What is it, child?"

"Is Hagrid okay?"

"Yes, he and Grawp are both – how did you know?

"Would you please ask Professor Dumbledore's portrait to join us?"

Minerva looked at Hermione sadly. "He's still slee - "

"He's faking. Tell him, please, that if he doesn't join us I would be happy to make a full report in his absence."

Minerva hurried into her office, casting an apprehensive look over her shoulder at Hermione.

Severus sat down beside Hermione with a mug of coffee and ran a fingertip lightly along the line where her jeans met her ankle. She batted at his hand. Tayet trilled.

Minerva returned, completely ruffled, and Dumbledore appeared in one of the frames on the wall behind her. Minerva was staring at him, and he was staring at Hermione. Neither one looked particularly happy.

"Excellent. Thank you, Headmistress. Thank you, sir."

He nodded, but said nothing.

Minerva finally sputtered, "How long have you been awake?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, and Severus' hand trailed higher on Hermione's leg. Severus squeezed her calf, and traced an idle fingertip lightly back down to her ankle. She smacked him on the thigh. He smiled into his coffee.

"I'm sorry, sir, but that will have to wait."

Both professors stared at Hermione.

"Professor Dumbledore, you are aware of the Indemnities, yes?"

He nodded.

"Are you aware that I have finished the list?"

He nodded again. "Phineas Nigellus…"

"Yes, of course he would have."

"Finished it!" Minerva said, shocked. "So quickly?"

Hermione sighed inwardly, and asked Dumbledore, "Are you aware of the workarounds?"

Minerva drew herself to full height. "You've found a way!"

"Two. So far. The inanimate Horcruxes. Yours and Molly's."

Minerva's hand fluttered to her chest and she groped behind her for the nearest tangible object. Her hand came to light on a bookshelf, on which rested a picture of a family. Hermione couldn't see their faces clearly, and she didn't want to.

Dumbledore regarded Hermione with keen interest, but he did not seem surprised. "So, Miss Granger," he began.

Following the line where her jeans met her lower back, Severus drew a light, slow, deliberate line on Hermione's back. Then his fingers brushed her wrist, then her ankle, then his hand pressed firmly on her right hip.

"Excuse me for a moment, please."

Minerva's hearth was empty, and she turned to Dumbledore's portrait.

"How long have you been awake, and why haven't you told me? And how does Miss Granger know?" Her features expressed equal parts relief and disapproval, and the lines etched on her face showed that this particular two-part response was one of much use and long familiarity.

"All in good time, Headmistress," he inclined his head slightly. "All in good time." He regarded her hearth serenely. "Which should arrive rather shortly, if I read our good Miss Granger correctly."

/x/

"What are you doing?" Hermione hissed.

"I should have thought that was obvious," Severus replied, dark eyes moving over her face with a promise of what would follow.

"Not now."

And his eyebrow raised again. _A challenge. Delightful._

As Hermione returned to the Floo, his hand was on her back, sweeping around her waist, hand opening on her stomach, his thumb caressing minutely, slowly, but inexorably upward. He set down his mug and came to his knees, his other palm flat on her back, following the muscles of her spine, fingers curling around her ribcage…

/x/

"Professor Dumbledore, if you would be so kind as to outline the list to the headmistress, I would be most appreciative."

"Miss Granger, I must insist - " Minerva began.

"Let her finish, Minerva," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Pettigrew. We need to find Peter Pettigrew. Quickly."

The former headmaster smiled quietly. "Well done, Miss Granger."

Minerva's nostrils were flaring but she had the sense to keep quiet, for now.

"Stop that," Hermione said, irritably.

"Miss Granger!" Minerva protested.

Laughing suddenly, Hermione said quickly, "I'll report back in the morning," and her head vanished from the hearth.

Minerva frowned and turned to Dumbledore's portrait, palms out in exasperated helplessness. "The girl is overwrought, Albus. And you," she began, eyes frosty behind her square-rimmed spectacles, "owe me an explanation."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. He was already editing his response.

/x/

"You bastard!" she yelped, jerking back into Severus' arms and twitching away from his fingers. "Tickling me, during a conversation like that!"

"Pain is not the only distraction, Hermione. And the two of them have much to discuss."

She twitched, anticipating more tickling. He chuckled, but his hands stilled, possessive, strong, unmoving.

Pulling her to him, sudden, almost roughly, he warned, "I will not promise to stop, Hermione, not when your skin is alive to my wish." Holding her close, he turned his attention to the top button of her blouse. "So many buttons. So little time. No man alive could resist…"

/x/

If either "man" or "alive" really applied, there was one who could, and he was in the park across the street from Number 12 Grimmauld Place, red eyes scanning the row of houses, seeking, sensing... he could almost taste her... somewhere close… somewhere very close… somewhere…

"Wormtail," he whispered, eyes unblinking, still sweeping the houses. "Your arm…"

He reached out the tip of his wand.

/x/

In the kitchen, Severus hissed in pain.

Hermione's eyes were enormous. "Again?"

"Not a warning," he gasped. "Now." In one smooth movement, he was masked and gone.

Tayet screamed.


	29. Fury

A/N: Thanks to Luna305 for the beta on this, and to Anastasia and Indigofeathers for sending some very necessary assistance.

* * *

**Fury**

"_Not a warning," he gasped. "Now." In one smooth movement, he was masked and gone. _

Tayet screamed.

In far less time than he expected, Severus appeared before Voldemort. Pettigrew was cringing nearby.

Severus knew instantly where he was and his heart pounded once, hard, but he stood silent, unmoving, until Voldemort acknowledged him

"Severus."

"My Lord," Severus said, a perfection of outward calm.

"Something is happening here… I sense a shift, a change."

Again, his heart. He said nothing

"She is here. She is nearby. I can feel it."

And again.

"Yes… something is happening. Quite close by." Voldemort turned his eyes on Severus. "Do you not feel it, Severus?"

Severus inclined his head.

"There is a silence here that cannot completely mask the sound behind it. Hidden, yes, masterfully hidden - but perhaps not hidden quite well enough."

Severus's eyes were hard, and behind them, he was exerting every nerve to keep his wand hand from tensing.

Voldemort inhaled deeply, opening his mouth to scent the air. "I taste fury, Severus. Fury. Delicious." One pale hand reached out to Severus' arm.

_Occlumens._ Only long habit smoothed the surface of Severus' mind. He pushed only his very real curiosity to the fore.

The hand paused mid-air. Fingers curled, beckoning.

Severus stepped closer, and a mist began to curl around his feet, rising, trailing off in long, coiling tendrils toward the silver sliver of moon.

"Find her, Severus. Find her, and bring her before me. She is nearby."

Severus inclined his head once more.

The mist rose.

"You know whereof I speak? Do you feel it, Severus?"

"I do," he replied, eyes signifying nothing.

Voldemort's eyes glowed in the darkness. "Do you not ache to enfold this fury, to bend it, to crush it to you, to burst its new ripeness on your tongue, savoring every last sensation as it dies?"

Severus inclined his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"Chaos," Voldemort's voice rasped horribly. "A new force of chaos, growing, yes, somewhere close, so close..."

The mist swirled around Severus' waist. Pettigrew's hands were trembling, twitching.

Voldemort's stirred the mist with his fingers. Shaped, the mist licked at them in a deepening eddy. "They can sense it, Severus, and I can sense their hunger."

Severus willed himself not to tense.

"They seek a feast. I will not take their leavings. She must be brought to me, whole."

Severus spoke carefully. "I wish to understand you, my Lord."

Pettigrew's eyes widened, darting from Voldemort to Severus and back.

"A dangerous ambition, Snape."

"I would not fail you in this, or in anything."

Voldemort closed his eyes and swept his fingers through the mist. "Something grows… a new insult... female… unprecedented…" Voldemort's tone was sibilant, unreadable. He opened his eyes and looked at Severus, burning. "Identify her. Find her. Bring her to me."

Severus' eyes turned to Pettigrew. "Assistance could prove… useful..." A note of cold balance in his voice, his own authority and power, but calibrated; no challenge to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's mouth opened. On the face he had worn long ago, it might have been a smile. "Of course. Wormtail will provide you every service."

With calculated negligence, Severus extended a gloved hand and rolled up his left sleeve. Wormtail did the same, slowly, fear showing clearly in his eyes.

Voldemort spun his face around and leaned toward Wormtail, hissing.

Wormtail flinched, but moved closer.

Voldemort's wand touched Severus's Dark Mark, then Wormtail's, then Severus's. "Until I release you, Wormtail, you respond to his summons and obey his orders as though from my tongue."

"Yes, M-master. Thank you, Master."

Severus's eyes were icy fire as he rolled his sleeve back down.

The mist swirled into the vacuum left by Voldemort's departure.

"Await my call at Spinner's End, Wormtail," Severus ordered.

"B-but… the Ministry… "

Severus silenced him with a look. "Spinner's End."

He waited, cloaked, masked, in the mist, until Wormtail had Disapparated.

/x/

Despite Hermione's attempts to calm her, the phoenix was still screaming. Tayet popped out of the kitchen, and then back in, and then out, and then in. Each time she appeared, she screamed again.

"Tayet, what? What?" Hermione asked, half panicked and half annoyed.

Tayet popped out again, and Hermione shoved the kitchen door open. "Stay put! Wherever you are, just stay put!"

Phineas Nigellus and Mrs. Black had their hands over their ears, but they nodded toward the front parlor. They winced as Tayet let forth a particularly piercing shriek.

Hermione ran to the parlor.

Tayet was perched on the back of a low Victorian sofa and was glaring out of the window. She looked at Hermione scathingly and then returned to her vigil.

Hermione kneeled on the sofa and looked out.

She gasped. There, in the park, she saw Voldemort, eyes glowing; Severus in his Death Eater robes; and a hunched, cringing figure whose hand was glinting in the dim moonlight.

She flattened herself on the sofa, dragging Tayet down onto her stomach, eyes wide, heart pounding in her ears.

Tayet let out an irritated "Squeep!" and poked her heart.

_"Are you a witch or not?"_ - a voice from a distant memory. _Right. _Hermione gripped her wand and peered over the back of the sofa.

A darker figure against the night. A faint glow of moonlight caught the mist swirling around Severus' boots as he took a step closer to Voldemort, pale ghostly wisps curling upward, twining around his legs, curling and reforming.

Hermione inhaled sharply as Voldemort's hand extended toward Severus' arm. _No,_ she thought firmly, as if she could obliterate Voldemort with thought alone. Tayet whirred her agreement, and the low rumble emanating from deep in her throat sounded distinctly like a growl, a growl that was echoed by Hermione.

Woman and phoenix watched as the mist rose higher, as Voldemort trailed his fingers through it, as he - _laughed?_ - and as Severus proudly extended his arm, rolling up his sleeve.

A trick of the mist in the moonlight illuminated his skin, the Dark Mark all the blacker for the contrast.

_Tayet,_ Hermione thought, without taking her eyes off of the silent power play unfolding before her. Some movement told her Tayet had heard her, and she continued, _I'm going to kill him._

A whirring agreement.

Voldemort's wand extended toward Severus' Mark. Woman and phoenix held their breath. Was this the call to the rest of Voldemort's followers? Was this the signal that would begin an attack?

Hermione eased herself off the sofa, wand at the ready, hand reaching for the mirror in her pocket. As soon as Voldemort's wand left Severus' forearm, she touched it.

It was so cold it burned.

_Not now._ The thought came through with a crystalline edge, but with a hint of... satisfaction? No. Something darker. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation.

Voldemort reached to touch Severus' mark again, and she let go of the mirror.

But when Voldemort and then Pettigrew finally disappeared, she brushed one finger lightly over it.

Mist glowing pale fire, swirling around him, Severus turned, proud, intent, and, across the distance, looked directly into her eyes.

She felt his hand over her heart, trailing downward…

Tayet warbled richly and disappeared.

_Now?_ she breathed in his mind.

His thought curled around her mind. _Now._

He started for the house and Disapparated mid-stride; his voice still echoed around her mind and he was before her, his gloved hands on her hips, his eyes intense behind the mask he still wore as he bent and claimed her lips with his own.

_Mine,_ she thought, her voice wrapping his mind in a fury of possession as she ripped off his mask. He groaned and pulled her sharply against him. Her mental laughter registered low in his spine and his hands were behind her, grasping, drawing her to him, under her, lifting her.

Her arms around him, clawing his shoulders from behind, the long, liquid sound of silk tearing as she clenched his shoulders, the muscles in his back extending as he carried her, wrapped around him, across the room to the wall opposite the window.

The wall hard, unyielding at her back, his presence, warm, dark, alive, insistent, in front of her, she raked her fingers into his hair and forced his head back just far enough to see his eyes.

Breathing hard, his hands between her back and the wall, pressing her, holding her, her only balance his weight, the wall at her back, his strength, pinning her.

Hard leather pushing her hair aside, cupping her jaw, so hard, cool, smooth, not skin, _"In these robes… Wrong… " _, his thoughts railing at the finite limitations of reason…

Hands tightening in his hair, _"Do you care?"_

_"Yes."_ His breathing ragged.

Tighter, pulling – her eyes demanding, a flicker in his. _"Will that stop you?"_ she breathed – he heard the challenge lurking in the depths below the question.

Eyes hard, a dark flame, searching, seeking – _"Never."_

And his lips were on hers and his hands flat against the wall, moving, his cloak billowing behind them.

Buttons – open – gone –

_"The cloak stays, Severus."_

A wicked smile. _"My orders are to find you." _- lips, tongue, teeth, neck, collarbone, shoulder, biting, hard, harder –

_"And so you have."_

Pinning her firmly to the wall with one hip, a change of angle, sweeping her hair aside, one gloved hand on her shoulder, up her arm, pressure, arm against the wall, hand running upwards underneath her arm, higher, closing over her own, holding her tightly.

Her breath shallower, eyes a deepening dance of anger, determination, something deeper. Growing… Her cheek pressed into his other hand, hard, dark, not alive… her neck bare, smooth, breathing, vulnerable…

_"I sense a shift, a change,"_ he whispered, his mental voice a rush of wind over water.

It rippled her mind. _"Hmmm…"_

_"He told me he can feel the chaos growing…"_ A strong, subtle movement against her.

His teeth on her collarbone, biting, gently, her free hand, fingernails into his skin, urgent… he moved again, intently, and again, slow, again, purposeful, again, calibrated, his power, his own –

And he –

And –

And –

Then –

- and as he watched, eyes wide, black, amazed, enthralled - she closed her eyes - inhaled, sharp - biting her lower lip, to keep from -

More... he wanted... _"He told me that there is a silence here that cannot completely mask the sound behind it. Hidden, yes, beautifully hidden – "_ he drew the words out in her mind, his movements more intense, deepening, _" - but perhaps not hidden quite well enough,"_ and he growled her name into her ear, "Hermione." He chuckled, and drew his hand deliberately back down her arm…

She dropped her hand to his collar, roughly pushing it aside and scratching his neck as he moved again, her fist closing in reflex.

Low, so low, in her mind, his voice everywhere, filling her, _"I taste fury, Hermione."_

And she moaned.

_"A fury I ache to enfold, to enflame, to release into the night, savoring every sensation as it flies, as it destroys - "_

He stopped moving, for one aching, agonizing, no movement, poised –

She clutched him as if she might die.

Her breathless mind screamed _"Now!"_ and he –

_"Fly, Hermione."_

He held her, watching as she –

Then, with impossible tenderness, he brushed a stray hair off of her forehead and gathered her gently in his arms.


	30. Divergent Roads

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Potion Mistress and TimeTurnerForSale, for different reasons. Thanks, as always, to my beta, Luna305.

* * *

**Divergent Roads**

_Then, with impossible tenderness, he brushed a stray hair off of her forehead and gathered her gently in his arms._

Boneless, weightless, without a thought, without a name, she floated, drifting… his voice was her sky.

Fingers – hair – skin – falling, floating, returning…

… and her arms around his neck, shoulders, breathing, returning…

… and she was home.

_"Welcome back, Hermione."_

She felt his lips on her forehead, alive, joy, and she opened her eyes into his –

_"Timeless,"_ he thought, forgetting that he was still in her mind.

She smiled and raised her fingers to his face, tracing an eyebrow, an eyelid, gently, eyelashes.

His eyes closed, his face relaxed, his lips parted… "… oh."

Her smile deepened, and her hands, knowing, embracing his face, her thumb along his lip –

And his eyes half-opening, warm, closing, and, with a kiss, a hello.

And his arms tightened around her, possessive, protective, freedom, eternal.

She smiled and it was again ageless. She kissed his forehead and breathed, "Dangerous."

One side of his mouth twitched. "Indeed."

Leaning his forehead against hers, then a decision, a motion, and he carried her to the sofa, and through the mist, the moon, waning, pale, silver.

Leaning on his chest, his cloak furled over them, she considered his face, and he watched her considering, and, finally, as was inevitable, his questioning eyebrow broke her quiet contemplation and she laughed softly and asked her inevitable question.

"Where do you sleep?"

He chuckled. Impossible that after everything she wouldn't know. "The third floor," he replied, drawing her close in his arms, kissing her hair. "Where we spoke to Dumbledore."

She was quiet, a hand on his chest, half-consciously tracing the phoenix tear brand as if memorizing a circle, but her eyes were intelligent. "Severus, I - " she began, then went quiet again.

"Hm?" Her hair against his skin. Glorious.

"Are you sleepy?" She blushed.

He chuckled again. "Are you saying that you'd like to go to bed, Hermione?" His voice was kind, but not without its usual edge of amusement.

She nodded. "Someplace real."

His heart tightened.

"You're real, Severus; you're real. You touching me is real. But we, this" – she blushed harder – "we're not a place, not really."

He closed his eyes. He wished they were.

Although he did not allow it expression, she sensed the sigh he withheld and reached up to touch his hair, one wisp of it still slightly woven from her mindless braiding, so many hours – days? – she wasn't sure any more. He hadn't taken it out… and she ran her fingers through it, releasing the strands.

His hand reached up to stop her, but she was done. This time he did sigh.

"Severus?"

When he didn't speak, she sat up and looked at him more closely.

He mumbled something, too softly for her to make out the words.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing."

"Please tell me," she said, gently.

He looked away then, and his glance fell on a patch of paling moonlight on the floor, bleaching the rich burgundy carpet to a reflective charcoal.

"Please?" she repeated, quietly.

He started to speak, but his voice wasn't working properly. He cleared his throat, and turned back to her, his eyes glistening. "Put it back?"

Hermione blinked, but she nodded. They both sat straighter, the cloak pooling to their waists, around her hips, and she combed his hair through her fingers. "If I put it lower, um… no one will see it."

"I am not ashamed, Hermione," he said calmly.

"I didn't mean – it's just – he might notice," she finished.

After a moment, he nodded. "Lower, then."

He leaned his head into her hands, and her fingers started weaving. Tayet appeared on the back of the couch and, after watching for a minute, warbled approvingly.

For a few minutes the only sound in the room was the soft slip of hair and the rustle of silk as one of them shifted.

He watched her face as she focused on his hair, forcing himself to keep his breathing even. The moonlight refracted through the mist paled her skin, her hair, leeching color, and shadow, stray bits of light through the old, rippled glass window. The only darkness her eyes and the slowly whirling cloud on her chest. Almost full. He wondered what would happen when –

"There." And she frowned, "Except – I have nothing to fasten it with."

Tayet crooned a single note of paralyzing sweetness. She leaned in and dropped one tear on the end of the braid.

_Done._

Severus and Hermione looked at each other questioningly, and, realizing that the voice belonged to neither of them, looked at Tayet.

Silhouetted against the glow from outside, her iridescence was muted – only the colors of her tail feathers were discernable, and only by their varying shades of grey. Severus and Hermione both reached out to touch her feathers, and, as their hands met, Tayet closed her eyes and sighed blissfully.

At last, the itching had stopped.

They sat silent for a moment, hands touching, looking at Tayet. She was almost the size Fawkes had been – her plumage rich, full, and elegant.

Their hands parted as each traced a long curling feather.

Even in the dim, waning moonlight, they saw it happen – the feather under Severus' finger a deepening shadow; the one under Hermione's taking on a pale, luminescent gleam.

Neither of them dared to breathe.

Tayet opened her eyes and looked at them seriously, then tilted her head and began to sing.

Phineas Nigellus grumbled awake and looked at Mrs. Black. "Well, it's better than the shrieking."

Mrs. Black looked at him strangely, then pulled two pieces of torn handkerchief out of her ears. "What did you say?"

He tipped his head toward the front parlor, but she'd already figured out his meaning, if not his words.

She twisted her lips thoughtfully. "Bit of a different tune this evening, wouldn't you say?"

"How so?"

She shot him a scornful look that would have done Minerva McGonagall proud. "Philistine," she scoffed, tucking her torn handkerchief into her beaded reticule. "Can't you hear it?"

"Hear what? It took an Act of Merlin to sleep through - " he waved his hand in the direction of the parlor. "It's a simple charm, the Silencing Charm," he said, aggrieved. "Do you suppose they don't know _how_?"

Mrs. Black regarded him with pursed lips for a moment, but the corners of her eyes would crinkle. They gave her away before she spoke. "I dare you to ask him."

Phineas Nigellus shushed her. "Cease your prattle, witch."

She hit him with her reticule, but fell silent, and they listened.

Severus and Hermione listened, spellbound, as Tayet wove her song from shadows and moonlight, notes pearls dropping into water, rain falling into wind, fire glowing into fire, water swelling, rippling, breaking dazzling rejoining - separated, woven, blended, separate.

He was never certain, he would never be certain, and he was, had always been, precise, exact, a chain of edged metal, of ice, out of a fire endlessly burning, in a world constructed of absolute, sharp, jagged clarity.

The clarity of spaces in a shattered soul.

Even were he given a chance, he could never explain how or when it happened.

Maybe it happened when she flew.

Maybe it happened when she sang.

Maybe it happened when he reached unconsciously for Hermione's hand as the song unfolded around them, or maybe it happened when he found her hand already reaching for his.

Whenever, however it happened, the edges that defined the empty spaces where he had once been whole would never again be as jagged after Tayet's song.

The whirling clouds on Hermione's chest slowed their circling, evened, smoothed, billowed gently, softly.

Hermione listened as its voice whispered in counterpoint to Tayet's song, "Shh…" An arbitrary sound. I forgive you. Forgive yourself. Severus, please.

Tayet's song swelled, broke, washed over them as perfectly as phoenix song must. Time matters differently to a phoenix.

The whispering "Shh…" from Hermione's heart lingered, softly, as the song ended.

But Severus only heard his heart beating in the silence. Maybe it was enough, for now.

Tayet looked at them sitting, still spellbound. "Whirp," she informed them definitively.

Severus stood, still holding Hermione's hand. He looked at her, sitting, the moonlight fading on her skin, at his cloak pooled around her, draped over her leg, and his throat tightened.

He hesitated.

But then, with a slight movement of his head, he gestured a question.

Hermione's breath caught as Tayet's tear in his hair caught the very last of the moonlight. She answered with a slight pressure to his hand.

His eyes softened. He did not let go.

They went upstairs.


	31. Into That Good Night

A/N: The title of this chapter is taken from a Dylan Thomas poem. It's worth reading... Thanks, as always, to Anastasia and Luna305.

* * *

**Into That Good Night**

_His eyes softened. He did not let go._

They went upstairs.

When they reached the third floor landing, Hermione looked at Severus. "Um… my trunk… I need to…"

He nodded, strangely formally. "_Accio Hermione's trunk._" He squeezed her hand and waited for the trunk.

She slipped into the bathroom at the end of the hall, and looked in the mirror.

She scarcely recognized the creature before her. Wild hair, knowledgeable eyes, and a small billowing cloud of darkness over her heart. She would not have believed it several days earlier. She was not sure she believed it now.

She gripped both sides of the cold porcelain sink and leaned her head over, breathing deeply. _Oh, Granger. What have you gotten into…_

An excellent question.

She was good at those.

She glanced at her eyes in the mirror, and then began a clinical appraisal. They were, undoubtedly, darker. Sharper. And deeper.

And her former Potions teacher was waiting for her.

_Oh, dear._

At that moment, the former Potions teacher was in the hallway, casting an apprehensive eye over Hermione's trunk as it hovered innocuously, awaiting direction. _Dammit, Snape, just do it._

But he could not. He could not, somehow, bring himself to levitate Hermione's trunk into his room in Harry Potter's house. His perfect execution of an intricate, improvisational masked dance on the tight-rope of truth that comprised his life as a spy was built on a rigid sense of honor – it was his only safety net. He knew this, and he reveled in the sometimes agonizing friction between his honor and his cynicism – the friction kept him sharp.

It also kept him from moving Hermione's trunk the final distance into his room.

He scowled at the inoffensive trunk. This didn't help. It didn't even really make him feel any better.

Tayet zoomed up the stairs and landed on the trunk, looking at him, amused. "Whirp," she suggested.

"That helps not at all, Tayet."

She rustled her wings and smirked at him. "Whirp," she insisted.

His scowl deepened. "Bloody conspiracy of one, you are."

She seemed to scowl back. Otherwise, she didn't dignify his statement with a response.

Hermione opened the bathroom door to discover Severus and Tayet apparently engaged in a scowling contest.

"Um… if I could perhaps… "

They turned to look at her.

"I – well – I need my toothbrush," she finished inanely, not quite sure what she had interrupted.

Tayet fluttered to the banister as Severus released the Wingardium spell on the trunk and turned toward the bedroom. He stopped at the door and reached for the handle, but did not turn around.

"Hermione," he asked, too calmly.

Her hand clenched around her toothbrush. "Yes?"

"Do you want this?"

"Do I… what?" she asked, startled.

"The reality."

She stood then, holding her toothbrush.

He heard her start to say something, but held out his hand.

More harshly than he intended, he began, "We all have choices, as you've so accurately noted. It is one thing, Hermione, to relinquish control in passion. Blood magic, sacrifice, and whatever she - " a gesture behind him toward Tayet, who was still perched on the railing " – represents."

Hermione stood still, looking at his back.

"It is another matter altogether to make a choice while standing in a hallway, holding a toothbrush. There are many rooms, Hermione, and you have as much right to any of them as I have. More, actually. But I hope - " He swallowed. "I hope you will choose mine."

She stared at him, not knowing what to think, let alone say.

"It means something to me, Hermione," he said, quietly.

"Of course it does. It means your heart still works."

He turned and faced her, a low anger surfacing.

She held up her hand. "I meant that. Don't cheapen it."

He looked at her, and said, "You know I can't love you," putting a careful inflection on the word "can't."

She nodded, understanding. "I don't imagine you can, with a broken soul."

Tayet lamented her agreement.

Standing with one hand on the door handle, head held at an odd, self-deprecating angle, he said, "If - no, when I can, it may be too late."

"No."

Something snapped. "Hermione, you can't know - "

Something else snapped. "I don't have to know. I have faith. In me. In her. In you. And in us."

Tayet's humming changed key – fuller, deeper.

"Go to bed, Severus. I'm going to brush my teeth, and I will join you in a moment."

But halfway down the hall, she paused, and he felt it. He stopped, halfway through the door.

Without turning around, keeping her voice low, she asked, "Would you?"

"If I could."

"Then if you would please get my trunk out of the hallway."

"Of course."

Satisfied, Tayet zoomed downstairs.

/x/

She appeared in the doorway.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

She tried to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

Neither was particularly successful.

He had turned down the covers for her.

She had left her hair down.

Both were exceptionally grateful.

He lifted the covers for her.

She couldn't not smile as she slipped under them.

His arm covered her shoulders.

After a moment, he asked, "Do you want another pillow?"

"No, thank you. This is good."

"Yes."

Neither dared to breathe.

After another moment, she said, "I'd only hit you with it anyway."

He chuckled. "Indeed."

They both started breathing again.

Drawing her close, he kissed her gently. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight."

Neither closed their eyes.

"Pleasant dreams," she said, finally.

"Yes," he said, looking into her eyes. "They are."

/x/

In her private quarters, Minerva McGonagall finally asked the question she'd been worrying in her mind for far too long. "How could you have been so blind, Albus?"

"Minerva, as I told Harry, I was never omniscient, merely intelligent. My mistakes, when I made them, were proportional to my abilities."

"An enormous 'mistake' to trust Snape, Albus. One might be tempted to call it 'tragic.'"

He corrected her instantly. "My death was not tragic; just the inevitable result of a mistake of mine." He paused briefly. "For something to be truly tragic, Minerva, one must be torn between love and duty. I faced no such dilemma. I expect you to remember that." He looked at her as though she were once again a student, and not Headmistress of Hogwarts.

"Thank you for the Muggle Studies lecture." She fixed him with a sharp look. "Why have you been pretending to be asleep? I am in no way ready for…" she gestured. "I'm neither strategist nor philosopher, Albus. I cannot lead them the way you could."

"That is not for you to do, Minerva. It is for Harry. Soon. Sooner than you think. For him to succeed he must follow a path only he can choose."

A wry look. "So you allowed yourself to be killed – oh, yes, Albus, I figured that much out; young Malfoy, disarm you? Please. You allowed yourself to be killed to fulfill your role in some Muggle paradigm, in which the white-bearded wizard must die in order for the young hero to... fulfill his destiny?"

Albus' eyes twinkled.

"I did pay attention in Muggle Studies, as you well know," she reminded him.

"Then it should come as no surprise that I did not awaken instantly as a portrait, nor that I will ask you to keep my alertness a secret from Harry – and the rest of the Order – for a while longer."

She sat, exasperated. "Really, Albus. How am I-"

He interrupted her, speaking sternly. "I ask no more of you than I've asked of others, Minerva. In fact, a good deal less. There are those who are preparing Harry's path – water will always run downhill, Minerva, and there are those who even now are grading the terrain to see that it does. For you to reveal that I am awake could skew that path, and the results could be disastrous."

"Albus Dumbledore, you are a manipulative old coot."

"Rather," he agreed, unapologetically. "I find it more efficient than endless explanations." His tone lightened. "A stance you will come to appreciate when the Board of Governors meetings resume."

She glanced at him sharply. "When? Not if?"

"I believe so, Minerva. However, as you've had occasion to notice, I have been wrong before."

She was quiet for a moment, weighing the lightness of his tone against the enormity of his meaning. Finally, she sighed, but rallied enough to ask, "As you've not really answered any of my questions, should I even bother asking how Miss Granger fits in?"

Albus' face grew serious. "No."

Minerva's eyes flew to his. "And… her source?"

Albus said nothing. Minerva knew him well enough to realize he looked slightly worried.

Her eyes widened, the beginnings of alarm. "Her information, then? Can we trust it, Albus?"

"Do you trust her Arithmancy skills?" he countered.

"Implicitly."

"Her Arithmantic analysis would not work were it based on faulty information, Minerva."

Minerva felt a twinge of exasperation. This conversation seemed to be leading backwards, and yet its logical pattern was so familiar that her next words were not what she expected. "I miss you, Albus. I miss you terribly."

"You will join me up here eventually, Minerva – hopefully not as soon as you expect to. Forgive me if I wish to seek to avoid hastening that eventuality."

A look passed between them, and, although her eyes glistened, she smiled slightly.

"Besides," Dumbledore continued, summoning a twinkle with a nearly invisible effort, only just visible, and only to Minerva. "Your language is quite… colorful, when dealing with owls from the Ministry. Pray, enlighten me – how does one go about doing that with a haggis, exactly?"

Had Minerva McGonagall had a pillow and a slightly different temperament, she very well might have hit his portrait with it.

Instead, she merely said, "Really, Albus."


	32. The Dying of the Light

A/N: Thanks to Luna305, ever-patient beta, and Anastasia, as always, for inspiration. The title of this chapter is from the same Dylan Thomas poem as the title of the last.

* * *

**The Dying of the Light**

Hermione awoke the next morning thoroughly entangled in the sheet. Severus' leg was thrown over hers, and his arms had snaked around her during the night, nesting his fingers in her hair. _Wow. Good morning, Granger._ She smiled slightly, and relaxed into the feel of his breath on her neck.

As she opened her eyes, she felt him smile. Or perhaps smirk. She couldn't tell. She hoped it was a smile.

"Are you smirking or smiling?" she asked.

"The woman even awakens with a question," he said.

"Of course. Which is it?" She stretched against him and his hand moved to her stomach, keeping her close. He lightened his hold until with every breath her skin brushed his palm.

"There is a difference?" he asked archly, burying his face in the riot of her hair.

"Mmm, from you, perhaps not," she consented, covering his arms with her own. She thought for a minute and then smiled again.

"I trust your dreams were pleasant?" he murmured.

She frowned, the images of her dream fleeting, elusive. Something about Dumbledore, a cabinet, and candles was drifting on the edge of her memory, but she couldn't hold on to any of it. "Yes… I think so… You?" she asked.

"If could shake the feeling that I still smell roses - " he frowned.

"Roses?" she felt a laugh starting. Really, it was too much.

"And something disturbing about Draco."

"Roses and Draco," she remarked skeptically. "Disturbing, indeed."

"They may have been two different dreams, Hermione," he grumbled.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly seven, I should think."

"Time for a shower, then," she said, pulling the covers back.

His arms tightened around her. He had other ideas.

She did get her shower eventually – one that took rather longer than she had expected.

By 9 a.m., though, they were seated at the kitchen table, their damp hair cool, drying in the summer heat, watching Tayet whizzing about the garden, where she was apparently playing a one-sided game of tag with a confused butterfly.

"Um…" Hermione began, putting down her tea, unwilling to break the spell.

"Yes. Well," Severus cleared his throat. They could delay this conversation no longer. "The timing is largely up to Minerva, of course," he began, then leaned his head on his hand, tracing a pattern on the table next to his coffee mug.

Both of them were wondering whether Hermione's workaround would be effective, or whether tomorrow's sun would rise on an Order bereft. Rather briskly, Hermione asked, "Do you have any idea how to get Pettigrew into the Ministry? He _is_ wanted."

_As am I._ The thought sprang unbidden to Severus' lips, but he refrained from voicing it. "We shall have to wait until night, of course, although that is no guarantee that the Department of Mysteries will be empty. We will have to risk that. You and I shall Apparate to Spinner's End – there's little left of it, certainly nothing the Ministry nor the Dark Lord would find valuable, and it scarcely matters if we are glimpsed by Muggles."

Hermione was obscurely grateful for his focus on detail - _Of course, Granger; he's been strategizing for years._ - and nodded.

"I have decided that I shall place Wormtail under the Imperius Curse and order him to obey your commands until such time as you return control of the spell to me," he began, stopping at the look on her face. "Hermione, it is the best way."

She stared at him, daunted by the thought of having anyone – especially a Death Eater, especially _that_ Death Eater – but anyone, really – under her control. She exhaled slowly, and nodded, but asked, "Why you?"

He sighed, and his eyes shuttered, but not before she glimpsed the sadness in them. "Have you ever cast an Unforgivable, Hermione?"

She shook her head.

"It is a far, far better thing to keep it that way," he said quietly.

She closed her eyes. Another soul deep blow – probably a bruise, by comparison, but still. "I – you think it will work, to transfer control that way?"

"The control will be mine throughout, Hermione; you will merely direct it, as I cannot be there."

"So I'll be…" she frowned, thinking. "I'll be acting sort of like a human wand, then?"

"If wands had the ability to respond appropriately to changing circumstance, yes – but the analogy serves well enough."

She could see him pushing his emotions away, again, as always, in the face of necessity. Something in her rebelled even as she knew his plan was their best option. "Severus, I - " she looked at him seriously. "Is there another way to - "

"I dare not appear at the Ministry; he will never go willingly; although you are potentially powerful enough in terms of raw magic to control him, I will not allow you to - "

Her eyes sparkled dangerously.

"Hermione," he said very seriously. "These are not ordinary circumstances. I've placed the future in your hands when they were the best ones. This is not Arithmancy, Hermione. This is my arena."

"Darkness," she said flatly.

He nodded. "In which I have but one equal."

She couldn't deny the truth. "I still hate it," she muttered.

"Good. Use that hatred, when the time comes," he said. "It will keep you whole."

They reached for their mugs and, as if by tacit agreement, looked out the window toward what they instinctively felt was their best hope. Tayet was perched on a low branch, and a yellow butterfly was flittering near her head.

Severus and Hermione watched as the butterfly circled Tayet's head. The phoenix was flapping her wings for balance as her head veered wildly, trying to keep the butterfly in sight. The butterfly landed innocently on Tayet's beak and beat its wings slowly.

Tayet froze, appeared to go slightly cross-eyed, and then let out a screech. She zoomed in through the open window and landed on Severus' lap, hiding her head under his arm, trembling.

Severus looked almost as astonished as the phoenix.

Hermione tried valiantly not to laugh at the pair of them, but even as her heart lightened at Tayet's antics and Severus' expression, she could not help but admit that she knew exactly how Tayet felt.

"She wants comforting, Severus."

What he wanted to say was, "It was only a butterfly," but what came out was a half-strangled, "I see that." He stroked Tayet's back. _Foolish bird,_ he thought, not unkindly.

Tayet crooned softly.

Still stroking her feathers, he thought, _I know exactly how you feel, little one. I'm not fond of surprises either._

"I'd best get to Hogwarts. Molly will need some time to… " she couldn't finish.

"Get us a time, Hermione."

She nodded, expressionless, and reached out to touch his cheek, kissing him softly, covering his hand on Tayet' feathers with her own, and Disapparated.

/x/

Minerva looked up as Hermione entered her office. Dumbledore was sitting calmly in his frame, toying with a Remembrall.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Minerva said, no trace of emotion in her voice.

Hermione sighed inwardly. "Headmistress," she said, nodding. "Professor Dumbledore."

He looked at her kindly, and inclined his head, but said nothing.

"Albus has informed me that we must keep the fact that he is awake a secret for a while longer. He also tells me that the timing of all of this seems largely to be in your hands." Minerva's brow furrowed disapprovingly. "I confess that, in the absence of the whole picture" – a piercing look at Hermione – "but in most matters" - she turned a weather eye on Dumbledore, who returned her look pleasantly – "his counsel usually proved wise, in the end.

Minerva waved Hermione to a seat, steepled her fingers and peered at Hermione over the top of her spectacles.

Hermione settled her mind as she sat down.

"Tea, Miss Granger?" Minerva offered awkwardly. She seemed reluctant to begin the conversation.

Something in the headmistress' tone told Hermione not to delay any longer. "No, thank you, Headmistress. I've just now had breakfast."

"Very well." Minerva paused briefly, then said, "The list, then, if you please."

Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed. "Molly for the locket. You – yes, well. Hagrid, for Nagini." Her voice broke as she saw Minerva's brow furrow and her eyes glisten. "And... and - " she swallowed again, preparing to lie.

"And that is quite enough to be getting on with for now," Dumbledore broke in serenely. "I find that breaking large tasks into smaller ones often allows for far greater accomplishment, in the end."

The two witches shot him two very different looks. Despite herself, Minerva was not without a burning curiosity regarding the final name on the list; Hermione, by contrast, was trying not to appear too relieved.

"Miss Granger, you believe you have found a workaround for the first two, yes?" he looked at her, a glint of warning in his eyes.

"I believe so, sir."

"Pettigrew?" Minera asked, her lips twisting in revulsion.

"Yes. His arm may allow him to release the Horcruxes beyond the veil without incurring the same sort of... reprisal that Professor Dumbledore experienced."

Minerva turned this over in her mind. "How so?"

Hermione sat straighter. "Piercing the veil requires agency, or intent," she began, in her best classroom voice, "so only a living creature can pierce the veil. However, no living thing may return from beyond it. It's simply not allowed."

"'The undiscovered country, beyond whose bourne no traveler returns,'" Dumbledore quoted softly.

Hermione looked at him, startled. "I didn't know you liked Shakespeare, sir."

His eyes twinkled. "A poor player, but there are those who love him," he consented.

Minerva snorted and reined them in. "Proceed, Miss Granger."

"Yes, of course, Professor," Hermione said. "What lies beyond the veil is a Mystery; it is forbidden. To touch what lays beyond it is punishable, evidently, by…" she paused, her mind flooded with what would happen if her plan failed, but she rallied, shoving doubt aside, and pressed on, "… by death."

Minerva turned her face away and looked out the window.

"It reverses the natural order of things to contaminate life with death," Dumbledore added softly, looking at Minerva.

"So it is when your child dies before you, Albus."

The silence hung heavy in the air, and, on the outskirts of it, Hermione sat very still.

With a visible effort, Minerva turned back to Hermione. "And Pettigrew's arm will circumvent this matter?"

"I believe it should, yes. What Professor Dumbledore did, insofar as I can see, was the magical equivalent of dividing by zero. It's forbidden; taboo; it's not done because it cannot be done."

Minerva looked at Dumbledore's portrait. "So naturally you had to try."

His lips twitched.

Hermione registered their exchange, but continued, "But although Pettigrew has intent, and agency, his arm is not truly alive, and therefore it may be possible for him to pass the Horcruxes through the veil without breaching the mystery – he will not really touch what lies beyond it."

"And then we may simply walk away?"

"It stands to reason that if the Horcruxes are released behind the veil, the portions of Voldemort's soul they contain will no longer be accessible, to him, or to anyone, and thus the Indemnities will simply cease to exist."

Minerva rapidly evaluated Hermione's logic. Finally, she said, "An admirable solution, Miss Granger, but as yet merely a hypothetical one. How do you propose we find him, and persuade him to assist us with this task? Or, I should say, these tasks, there being two inanimate Horcruxes?"

Here Hermione stumbled. "My… ah… my source knows how to find him. And… and Pettigrew does owe a life debt to Harry."

Minerva treated Hermione to a look that stripped the marrow from her bones.

Dumbledore coughed. "Minerva," he said simply.

"Very well. Pettigrew is your problem, then, Miss Granger. I trust you are equal to the task of ensuring your source's continued cooperation?"

Hermione shook her head. _Oh, no. Not this kind of conversation again._

"Very well," said Minerva, rising from her chair. "I shall Floo Molly and ask that she join us. She will need to be there, in case things go… Yes. Excuse me."

Hermione suddenly realized that she would have given anything to be facing another awkward conversation with Minerva rather than the conversation that was coming with Molly Weasley.

Minerva exited the office through the door to her private chambers.

Hermione glanced at Dumbledore, and a look of shared caution passed between them.

"Steady, Granger," he said.

She swallowed, drying her palms on her jeans. "Yes, sir."

They waited.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Is Harry up to this? Will he be able to convince Pettigrew?"

"Perhaps the life debt will be compulsion enough, Miss Granger, although Pettigrew was ever adept at finding loopholes. As for Harry - " Dumbledore opened his hands " - that remains to be seen. I suspect, sadly, that the final persuasion will have to come from another source." His eyes were compassionate, and she was reminded of how tired, how much older he had looked, that last year.

Hermione returned his gaze, then drew her spine straight and nodded once. "Yes, sir."

* * *

A/N on sources: Severus alludes briefly ("It is a far, far better thing...") to the end of Dickens' _A Tale of Two Cities_. Dumbledore's Shakespeare quotation is from Hamlet's description of death in the "To be or not to be" soliloquy. Dumbledore's reply to Hermione is the bastard offspring of Macbeth's definition of life as "a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage" and a statement made by Daniel Webster before the U.S. Supreme Court ("It is a small college, sir, but there are those who love it").


	33. The Road to Hell

A/N: Much gratitude to Luna305, who did more than beta this chapter.

* * *

**The Road to Hell**

Minerva re-entered her office with a flustered but cheerful Molly Weasley, who was wiping her hands on a patchwork apron.

Hermione looked at one of the patches. It had a large orange and green sunflower on it. She had to look away.

"Hermione, dear," Molly said, coming toward her. "My hands are still wet - I was just finishing the breakfast things. There," she said, opening her arms and enfolding Hermione in a fierce hug. "I haven't had the chance to thank you, dear. You saved my life. I'm so grateful – we all are – Arthur, the boys, Ginny…" she beamed at her.

Hermione opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"And as for that vile creature," Molly continued, rubbing her hands on her apron once more, a steely glint in her eyes. "I was glad to do it, Hermione. Glad. My brothers – he was one of them - " Her hands kept moving.

The sunflower folded and unfolded as Molly twisted her apron.

Hermione looked at Minerva.

"Tea?" Minerva asked Molly.

"No, thank you."

Minerva gestured and two chairs appeared next to Hermione's. The older women sat, Molly still toying with her apron.

"Hermione, dear, Minerva says your research is going well? We're so proud. And we have absolute confidence in you. Ron was just saying at breakfast - "

"Molly," Minerva began, her voice strangely hollow.

Molly looked more closely at Hermione. "But you don't seem to be eating. I'll Floo you your meals, dear; I'm so sorry, but with one thing and - "

"Molly," Minerva repeated.

" - and another… " Molly faltered, looked at Minerva. "I'm sorry, Minerva. You must have a million things to do." Leaning to Hermione, she finished, "Are you getting enough sleep, dear? You look pale."

"Molly," Hermione said, willing herself not to look at Dumbledore's portrait for help. He'd shut his eyes when he'd heard the Floo. "The Horcruxes. You know about them."

"Of course, dear. That's what your research is about, isn't it?"

Hermione couldn't look at her eyes. She stared instead at Molly's apron, recognizing in a far distant corner of her mind a maroon plaid patch as one of Ron's long-ago shirts. A scarlet and gold patch – an old Quidditch uniform. Charlie, maybe. And the pink square, a loose thread at its corner – the pink square must have blanketed a baby Ginny. _Oh, gods, I can't do this._

"Miss Granger has some rather… unsettling… information," Minerva began quietly. "It seems that the destruction of a Horcrux requires a sacrifice in kind."

"'In kind'? I'm not sure I follow," Molly said.

"The murders Voldemort committed to create them follow a kind of discernable pattern," Hermione began, glancing at Minerva, who nodded at her, ceding the floor, but remaining poised to assist. _A brilliant teacher… oh, gods… _Hermione forced herself to focus. "It seems that each Horcrux demands an Indemnity – a sacrifice – similar in kind or in situation to the victim used to create it."

Molly's hands slowed on her apron, moving slower until she was picking at the loose thread. Then her hands clenched. "Not Ginny," she said firmly. "She almost died once because of that evil diary. Not Ginny," she repeated.

"That Horcrux has already been destroyed, Molly," Minerva reminded her gently.

Molly's hands unclenched, and she smoothed her apron. "Then what - ?" she looked from Minerva to Hermione.

Forcing herself to meet the woman's eyes, Hermione said, "The diary was Voldemort's first – his weakest. Ginny didn't have to - " She couldn't finish. She couldn't mention Dumbledore, either. She shook her head, and took a deep breath. "There is a necklace, a – a locket, Slytherin's locket, that once belonged to Voldemort's mother."

"Who did he kill for that one?" Molly's face was hard.

Hermione's throat was so tight she could not speak. She had to be right about the workaround. She _had_ to. Her own fists clenched.

Minerva saw, and answered for her. "An elderly witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith."

The name meant nothing to Molly.

"She had no children, Molly," Minerva said, "and…" Then she could not continue, either.

Hermione forced herself to rally. She spoke, low, barely above a whisper. "The Indemnity sometimes involves a kind of inversion."

Molly looked at them blankly for a moment, and then she paled.

Hermione was by her side instantly. "Mrs. Weasley, there may be a workaround. I think I've found one. Really. It should work - "

But Minerva's hand was on her shoulder. "Give us a few moments, child."

"Of course," Hermione said. "Shall I…?"

"I'll send one of the house-elves to find you."

As Hermione closed the door behind her, she heard a choked sob.

Hermione flew down the spiral staircase, past the stone gargoyle, and into the corridors.

She had no destination.

She just ran.

/x/

"Molly," Minerva said. "Molly."

"Oh, Minerva. Arthur - the boys - I never imagined – oh, gods, Ginny, my little girl - and…"

"Molly, dear, breathe."

"I was so concerned about them that I never thought that I might – even after – I – oh, how will they manage?" Her huge eyes sought Minerva's. "Arthur can't cook!" Her eyes were pleading, then they brimmed over. "And… oh, Minerva…" she whispered. "Oh. Oh gods," and she leaned her head against the older woman's shoulder and drew a shuddering breath.

"I know, Molly. I know. Shh…"

/x/

Hermione ran.

The look on her face scared Peeves.

/x/

After a while, Molly's hands smoothed her apron once more. The thread holding the pink square had come loose under her worrying fingers and a small gap had appeared in the seam. She placed one fingertip on it and rubbed the edges of the cloth against her skin.

"Who else?" she asked, finally.

Minerva said nothing.

"Who else?" Molly demanded.

Minerva, who had been kneeling by Molly's chair, stood stiffly and reached behind her for the chair Hermione had vacated.

"One of them is me," she said simply.

Molly looked up, horrified.

"I failed my daughter, Molly. Tom killed her for a Horcrux. The connection is failure of protection."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"Then I should have died with them, Molly," Minerva said, her tone absolute.

No mother would argue. Molly was no exception.

"But I've been thinking," Minerva said, her tone brightening, brittle, but stronger. "I think perhaps I failed Tom, too."

Molly looked at her in amazement.

"He was two years behind me in school, Molly. I could, perhaps, have - "

"You were a child, Minerva," Molly interjected.

"So was Tom," Minerva countered firmly, her voice growing stronger. "So is Potter. And so is she," Minerva gestured toward the door.

/x/

Hermione stopped running and walked determinedly three times past the same blank patch of wall.

A door appeared, and she went through it.

The room was empty save for a large mirror.

She didn't hesitate - she stepped up to it and looked, and saw -

_Severus, of course. No surprise…_ He had wrapped his cloak around her shoulder and pulled her close. The pair in the mirror faced her, unsmiling. _Not pretty. Well, no, of course; it wouldn't be._ Hermione-in-the-mirror's eyes darkened as she pulled aside her collar. The cloud there was still billowing, the circle not quite full. In the mirror, Severus put a fingertip under Hermione's chin, and she turned to him, brushing his hair softly out of his eyes. They shared one stark kiss, and reached for their wands.

Never dropping their gaze from each others' eyes, unblinking, as if each moment spent in each other's eyes were precious, too precious to squander, as if each sight might be the last –

Hermione held her breath.

Unblinking, gazing at each other, they drew their wands in unison, aimed directly at each other, and –

"Miss?"

Hermione's head turned in reflex. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of green before the mirror went dark.

"Dobby is being sent to find you, Miss. The headmistress is wanting you in her office."

"Thank you, Dobby."

/x/

Darkness.

His arena.

His ally.

His recourse, his only safety.

His prison.

Everything he touched, marked by Darkness.

Lily.

Hermione.

(He'd turned her tears to black.)

Even Tayet.

He ran his finger down the blackened feather, and she sang a long, low note.

A seduction of darkness, getting darker.

Every Unforgivable, one step nearer a line -

And tonight, another.

Far, far better him than her.

It would cast a shadow on her anyway.

His shadow.

How dare he?

We all make choices.

What's one more?

Light casts shadows.

Darkness just is.

Unforgivable.

Not inevitable. Necessary.

Without darkness, light would need no name.

Neither can live where the other survives, but they cannot exist without each other.

He was certain of that now.

Faith in the face of uncertain justice was the purview of darkness. A faith reserved for thieves, spies, and murderers.

The innocent had no need of faith. They embodied it.

Fools couldn't see it.

Had he been a fool?

And the rest – those who lived on the periphery of the real, lives of quiet assumptions and platitudes – they might mouth the word, but were ignorant of its meaning until forced there by stupidity or necessity. In their hands faith became a defense, a shield – which they often mistook for a weapon.

They sometimes called it "Harry Potter."

You could, he supposed, be bludgeoned to death with a shield.

Still.

Only those who felt the edge of the real on their throats could know faith.

He'd seduced her to within cutting distance.

She'd taken another step on her own.

Tayet was looking at him with eyes of endless night.

_Push it further, you think?_

She leaned closer to him, her eyes not leaving his.

_I presume that's a "Yes"?_

Faith.

An arbitrary set of sounds.

Only the unforgivable had any real need for faith. Real faith.

The unforgivable were why the word had been shaped from a set of meaningless sounds.

Faith. The word had been created because of situations like his. Because of…

_More…_ He knew there was one more thought coming. One step, if he would but take it.

Because of Darkness.

Which marked everything he touched.

It was necessary.

Unforgivable.

His eyes widened slightly.

Faith.

The word had been invented for him.

Tayet sighed and rubbed her head on his cheek.

_Arrogance, Snape,_ he thought wryly, reaching for his coffee.

But in the depths of his broken soul, he knew it was true.

She – woman, phoenix; did it matter? – had seduced him to within healing distance.

He'd taken another step on his own.

Tayet spotted a firefly and was off like an arrow. Memory became motion, and the time for thinking was past.

/x/

"Two o'clock," Hermione said, coming into the library.

Severus placed a bookmark and sat up on the couch. He raised an eyebrow. "Not midnight?"

"Minerva thought it too symbolic."

"Hm."

"And Molly pointed out that there's a shift change."

Hermione sat in one of the armchairs and started a fire.

"Hermione, it's blazing out."

She nodded, drawing in upon herself as he watched.

He was up and kneeling beside her chair before she could crumble completely. "What?"

Drawing a ragged breath, she said, "Severus, I looked."

"What?"

"I looked. In the Mirror. Oh, gods, Severus."

He pulled her to his shoulder. She was shaking.

Tayet appeared on the back of the chair and peered at Hermione. "Squirp?" she asked Severus.

"I went to the Room of Requirement. I wasn't thinking. I just ran. And then I thought, 'Show me,' and it was there. The Mirror of Erised."

"Shh… Hermione. It doesn't show the truth." He stroked her hair.

She shook her head out of his hands, her eyes blazing madly. "Severus," she said, her voice rising in panic, "I don't _want_ to kill you. I _don't_."

His hands froze midair.

"Squilp!" Tayet insisted.

"Tayet," Hermione moaned, drawing the phoenix to her.

"Squerk!" Tayet protested, wings rustling.

"Hermione…"

Hermione's hold on the phoenix tightened as she interrupted. "I can't kill you, Severus, I _can't._ _I can't mean it._ It's all going to fail because I love you! _You and your damned buttons!_"

"Squeep!" Tayet craned her head to glare at Severus.

_She loves… Damn it, Snape, think. Fast._ "Hermione, do you see buttons on this shirt?"

Startled, she looked at his shirt. It closed with a small tie at the throat. "N-no…"

"Would you have thought it possible?"

"N-no, I – oh, don't. I know what you're doing."

"Distracting you, yes, so you can think properly. Until you can, I can't."

Hermione's hold on the phoenix loosened slightly. Tayet squirmed out of her grasp and perched on her knee. Hermione rubbed the back of her hands across her cheeks.

_Oh, Hermione,_ he thought, through the pounding of his heart. "Tell me what you saw."

"You. Me. Together."

His heart jumped.

"We weren't smiling. We kissed, and…"

"Go on."

"And we pointed our wands at each other, and – oh, the look on your face, Severus."

Tayet crooned a few curious notes.

He touched her hair. "It wasn't real, Hermione."

She looked at him. "Don't lie to me now, Severus," she snarled.

He gripped her shoulders so hard that she gasped.

"Damn it, Hermione, I'm not lying. Forgive me if I don't want to hear about how I look when I kill you. I would rather not know. _Just tell me what happened next._"

She nodded and his fingers relaxed slightly on her shoulders. "And then…" she stopped. "Oh. Then Dobby came in. I saw a flash of green as I turned away."

"You didn't see yourself cast the Killing Curse?" His irritation was vanishing as quickly as it had flashed to life.

"No."

"Hermione," he said, exasperated, running his hand roughly through his hair.

"Um… I suppose I may not have to kill you."

He exhaled. "No. That timing wouldn't make sense, Hermione."

"Oh. Right. Timing," she said, her voice growing sharper.

Tayet leapt to the back of the chair again. Severus stood slowly and backed away to the fireplace.

"How could I forget? You kill me, but I don't kill you, because of the _timing._ Excellent. I feel ever so much better now."

"SQUEEP!" Tayet shrilled at Hermione.

"Oh, WHAT?" Hermione said, rounding on her.

"SQUEEP!" Tayet was worrying at her feathers with her beak.

Hermione looked at Severus, confused, and he took a cautious step closer. He shook his head. He didn't know either.

"Perhaps you bent one of her feathers, just now?"

They inspected Tayet's plumage as she continued her urgent grooming, but saw nothing out of place.

"I don't think so. Perhaps it's growing pains?" Hermione suggested.

His mouth twitched at the irony. He couldn't help it. "Perhaps."

Tayet finished her grooming, clicked her beak at them, and zoomed out the window. She was hungry.

Hermione turned on Severus, her anger still sparking. "How can you be amused, Severus? With everything we're facing?"

"I should have thought that was obvious, Hermione," he drawled.

Her eyes flashed.

"It takes light to create darkness, and light to cast a shadow. But without the shadow of darkness, Hermione, nothing would ever be funny."

"You find Tayet's growing pains _funny_?" her voice was ominous.

"Not hers, Hermione."

She looked at him steadily, and backed him slowly toward the fireplace. Drawing one hand up to the V of skin at his collar, she traced along the edge of his shirt.

His eyes narrowed.

She continued to trace, the lightest of touches, moving her fingertips to his skin.

Severus jumped as the fire grew suddenly enormous and roared behind him. His hands flew to his trouser legs, patting out the sparks.

Pocketing her wand, Hermione smirked. "How very amusing. I do believe I see your point."

His eyes narrowed suddenly. "My cloak. At the Quidditch match." He knew when he saw her expression. "That was you."

"Of course it was," she smiled sweetly.

"Hermione," he said, half-choking. "You were eleven."

"Twelve, but who's counting?" The corners of her eyes crinkled. "Oh, right. You are. Sorry."

He growled something incoherent at her, then winced as a spark burned through his trouser leg.

As he reached down to smother it, Hermione turned and left the library, laughing darkly.

Severus scowled. _I am on the road to hell._

Sitting weakly in the armchair, he Summoned a brandy. Then his lips twitched.

_No matter. I'll die before I get there._


	34. Damocles

A/N: As always, thanks to Luna305 for beta duty. Also thanks to Luna, Anastasia, and Tobert, for various inarticulate but fundamental reasons.

* * *

**Damocles**

"No, Molly! I won't have it!"

"We have no choice, Arthur."

"There must be another way."

"This is the other way, Arthur. The other is… it's just…" her voice dropped, and she looked helplessly at him. "It's the back-up plan."

He stared at her, red-faced. "I'm not losing you as part of a back-up plan!" he shouted.

"Arthur!" she admonished him. The windows were open.

He lowered his voice. "If Hermione's plan fails, Molly - "

"It's a brilliant plan, Arthur."

"Logically, it holds water, I grant you. But… but Hermione is no strategist. Several dozen things can go very wrong, Molly, very wrong indeed."

Her voice was calm. "Even if the plan fails, Arthur, I assure you that _I_ will not. Nor will Minerva."

"Molly - "

"Do you want our children to live their whole lives under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Wondering when their own children are going to die? No, Arthur. There's nothing to be done. We have to give Harry a chance, no matter what it costs us. We made this decision, together, years ago."

"Molly, let me - I'll do it instead - "

"Arthur," she said gently, "it doesn't work that way." She waved her hand around the living room in the Burrow, with its usual chaos of the scatterings of 7 children – 9, now, including Harry and Fleur. "I'm the mother." She looked at him fondly, sadly, their history in her eyes.

It made him smile, and broke his heart. A lump in his throat threatened to choke him. He reached out and touched the strands of grey in her still-bright hair.

She reached for his hand and kissed his palm, drinking the feel of his skin in through her own.

"Molly…"

"I have to do this."

He looked at her. Since he'd first seen her at her Sorting, he had never once felt so lost. He drew her to him, his hand on her hair.

"I - I know. I was just going to say that I'm coming with you."

She pulled away slightly. "Oh, Arthur, no – it's too risky."

"I insist, Molly. I'll not have you face this alone."

Her hands fluttered on his chest. "Arthur, what if something does go wrong? Bill is far too young to deal with this lot on his own, and him just married…"

"My mind is made up. The children are grown."

"Ginny…" she said, weakening.

He drew her close again. "Even Ginny is older than you think, Molly, dear, for all she's your baby." Fingers under her chin, coaxing her to meet his eyes. "Wasn't it you who used to say 'Witches mature faster than wizards'? You were about her age, and trying to convince me… Hm. Yes." He cleared his throat sharply, and glanced away, not wanting to think about what Molly had convinced him to do when she was only a few months older than their youngest child.

Molly sighed as she leaned into her husband's chest. She would not argue with him.

Not today.

"No heroics."

Arthur said nothing.

She patted his chest firmly. "Promise me, Arthur."

He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair. She smelled of flowers and bread, of dust-bunnies and daredevils and the children's thousand daily rounds of did-not-did-too. She smelled like home.

"Promise me."

"I – I promise."

In the kitchen, Ron turned to Harry and gestured with his head toward the living room, a questioning look on his face.

Harry shook his head, and mouthed, "No idea."

The two left the house as quietly as they could, and, once they were out of earshot, they turned to each other.

"Doesn't sound good, Ron," Harry began, lamely.

"Not at all." Ron ran his hands through his hair, wishing they'd gotten to the kitchen a bit faster after the yelling started.

They looked at each other.

"Sounds like Hermione knows, though," Ron said darkly, as they sat down some distance from the house.

Harry nodded. "We could send Hedwig."

"From here to London and back? Not enough time."

"Floo?"

"With Mum and Dad snogging in the living room?"

Harry silently agreed.

"Apparate, then?"

"What, and bring the whole bloody Ministry down on our heads? Sorry, mate, but you can't move without half the Order and a team of Aurors for backup."

Harry grimaced and picked at the grass. "I hate this," he said, finally. "Not knowing."

Ron nodded, watching his parents through the window. Their obvious affection for each other usually made for unpleasantness in his stomach, but at the moment, he found it oddly comforting. "I swear, Harry, I'm going to go barking if something doesn't happen soon," he grumbled.

"Sure you haven't already?" Harry forced a smile.

Ron rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not sure. Mum and Dad snogging, and me not being ill? I must be mental."

"Completely," Harry agreed.

/x/

Had she but known it, Hermione would have been shocked to learn that she and Ron were feeling exactly the same way.

She had just set Severus on fire. Again.

And laughed at him.

She watched a brandy snifter float through the hallway.

"Oh, dear," she sighed, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes.

"Don't worry, dear. Whatever it is you've done, he deserved far worse," Mrs. Black sniffed sagely.

"What has she done now?" Phineas Nigellus appeared.

"I set Severus'… erm, yes. I set him on fire."

Hermione winced as Mrs. Black's cackle grated against Phineas Nigellus' loud guffaw.

"I've just come from Hogwarts," Phineas Nigellus said.

"How's Minerva?"

"Hard to say. She's mostly sitting on her desk twitching her tail, staring at the old fool's portrait."

Hermione opened her eyes at that. "She's what?"

Phineas Nigellus' mouth twisted with amusement. "Sometimes she hisses."

Hermione blinked.

"Seems to bother him most when she purrs, though."

Hermione closed her eyes again, hearing an echo, _"… when it all became… too much… I could transform… my feelings were less – less human, less complex when I was a dog…"_

She'd not seen Sirius fall through the veil. She'd only heard, afterwards, mostly from Neville.

She realized that would like very much to see Neville.

Reaching a decision, she said, "Mrs. Black? Would you give Severus a message for me please?"

"Will you set me ablaze if I don't?" Mrs. Black cackled.

Hermione sighed. "Of course not. Would you please tell him that I've gone to visit my parents, and I'll be back in a couple of hours?"

Mrs. Black nodded, and Hermione Disapparated.

Phineas Nigellus and Mrs. Black exchanged a worried glance.

"She seem a bit off to you?" Mrs. Black asked.

Phineas Nigellus sounded uncharacteristically reflective when he answered, "A bit…"

They were quiet for a moment.

"Will she be ready?" he asked Mrs. Black.

Having heard the _pop_ from the library, Severus came into the hall in time to hear the question.

"Ask him," said Mrs. Black, nodding her head toward Severus. "I'm just a two-dimensional excuse for a pretext, remember?"

"She's gone?"

"You drove her back to Mummy," wheezed Mrs. Black. Turning to Phineas Nigellus, she said, "Pay up."

Phineas Nigellus' eyebrows flew up, then, grumbling, he reached into his pockets. "Didn't think it would take this long," he muttered.

Severus' eyes narrowed slightly, but he refused to be distracted. "To her mother?" he repeated.

Mrs. Black's eyes sparkled dangerously as she counted the coins Phineas Nigellus had handed her. "It's a wonder she hasn't gone before now," she said, with affected disinterest. "You owe me two more Sickles, you lousy skinflint." Turning to Severus, she continued, "Stop glowering at me, young man. You've worn this mantle for so long you're forgotten its weight."

A protest sprang to Severus' eyes, but Mrs. Black held up her hand before he could speak.

"Wait. Think. You're supposed to be good at both."

Severus inspected his cuffs for several moments before he nodded curtly.

Phineas Nigellus looked at him appraisingly. "Figured it out, have you?"

"She's saying goodbye."

Mrs. Black snorted softly. Phineas Nigellus glanced at her. Mrs. Black pointed at Severus. "More."

"And she wants comforting."

Mrs. Black nodded. "It won't be enough, of course. But every young bride tries, once, when she realizes what she's done."

Severus blinked. _Bride?_ He noticed abstractly that his palms had gone clammy.

She shrugged. "She'll be back – an hour, maybe less. Mummy can't fix the fact that the man she loves is going to kill her."

Snape's eyes glittered darkly, but he crossed his arms, surreptitiously trying to dry his palms on his shirt sleeves.

Mrs. Black spared him a glance before turning to glower at Phineas Nigellus. "Love, death, what's the difference, really?" She gestured impatiently at Phineas Nigellus. "Pay up."

Phineas Nigellus nodded his concurrence. "Either way, life as you knew it is over. One just takes longer." He handed two Sickles to Mrs. Black.

Severus raised a questioning eyebrow at their exchange. "One wonders what pretense you have for currency."

Mrs. Black cackled as the coins clinked together. "None, of course. But even in death, principles must be upheld." Mrs. Black tucked the coins in her reticule before turning to regard him, the amusement on her face wiped away completely, replaced with a grave pity. "Don't you agree, Severus?"

He nodded once; Mrs. Black returned the nod.

Severus turned toward the kitchen, muttering "_Accio coat._" He was suddenly very cold.

/x/

"Harry, dear," Molly called from the window. "Could you join us for a moment?"

Harry and Ron stood and brushed the grass off of their jeans, but Molly waved Ron back. "Just Harry, Ron, dear." She ducked her head inside before Ron could argue.

After an hour, Severus started pacing in the library.

Harry stared at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "I – you – what? Hermione? What?"

"Sit down, dear. Here." Molly helped him to a chair.

Arthur said nothing.

After another half hour, Severus rested his hands on the mantle and leaned his forehead against the wood. _I can't_ warred with _Where is she?_

Harry rubbed his hands on his jeans. "I don't understand. He'll do this because he owes me a life-debt?"

Molly looked at him gently. "We think so, Harry, dear."

Harry saw Arthur glance at her sharply.

"I don't understand how those work," Harry said. "Life-debts, I mean."

Arthur cleared his throat. "No one does, Harry. It's a mystery." His voice was steady, but his eyes were filled with desperate pleading.

Harry swallowed hard, and nodded. "Don't worry, Mr. Weasley. I'll make him do it." He thought, _Somehow._

Molly's proud smile pierced his heart. "Of course you will, Harry, dear. You always have, haven't you?"

She hugged him tightly. "Now. Not a word to Ron. We'll be there and back before any of the others know we're gone."

Harry nodded, his mind still blindly groping toward some kind of alternative. _If I fail..._ "What about the Aurors?" he asked distantly.

Arthur said, "Tonks and Kingsley will join us, naturally. I'll speak to him now. Excuse me, Harry." He turned away quickly, clearing his throat.

/x/

The shadows were lengthening in the house as Severus swept into the hallway.

Mrs. Black was leaning her head against her frame, her eyes closed.

"Mrs. Black," he demanded.

She opened one eye. "Not back yet, is she?"

"An hour, you said."

"You're slipping." She closed her eyes and he got no more out of her.

/x/

As the last rays of the setting sun slanted through the diamond-paned windows, Minerva resumed her human form and, reaching for her quill, began to write the first of three letters.

/x/

"An excellent dinner, dear. What a joy to have you all here." Arthur set his napkin down and smiled at his family.

Harry saw that the smile didn't match the look in Mr. Weasley's eyes. He wondered at what pretext they'd gotten Charlie back from Romania on such short notice, until he saw Bill and Charlie exchange a glance.

_They know._ Harry closed his eyes.

As Fred and George began another round of tales from their joke shop, Molly couldn't help but look at Percy's empty chair. Her heart closed in her throat. She forced her attention back to the twins.

No one moved to clean up the dishes. Ginny wondered, briefly, why her mother hadn't insisted, but was enjoying having all of her brothers home too much to give it more than a passing thought.

/x/

Severus sat in the Transformed chair in the library, swirling the air in his empty glass, staring into the still-warm ashes of the fire.

He suddenly sat straighter. _Slipping, indeed._ Shifting his weight, reached into his pocket for the mirror.

His hands were shaking as he touched it. _"Hermione."_

He waited.

Nothing.

Then –

_"I'll be back soon."_

Then nothing.

_Where is she?_ was replaced again, insistently, by _I can't._

And as his mind slipped into the empty spaces where "I can" should live, he unconsciously rubbed his thumb over the smooth surface of the mirror.

/x/

"Try not to stay away so long next time?" her mother said, giving Hermione a quick hug before turning back to the stack of bills on the kitchen table, her eyes already moving to check a column of figures.

"Tell Dad I - "

"What?"

"I'm sorry I missed him."

"It was a lovely day for tennis, dear, and you know he never sees Nigel these days."

Hermione nodded, but her mother said no more.

"'Bye, Mum," she said finally.

Her mother waved.

Hermione looked away.

Once outside, her blurry gaze fell on the swing-set her parents had been meaning to remove for years. She went and sat heavily on one of the swings, and wrapped her arms around the chain, leaning her cheek against the metal links that were cool in the fading dusk.

She felt Severus' thumb on her cheek.

And in Grimmauld Place, he felt her tear.

She felt his thought, the gentlest caress. _"Come home, Hermione."_

Strange, how something so tentative could be so solid.

She touched her mirror as he thought again, _"Please."_

He heard her say _"Yes,"_ and she was in his arms.


	35. A Darkling Plain

A/N: Thanks to Luna305 for the late night beta on this. The chapter title is from Matthew Arnold's poem, "Dover Beach." Worth reading...

* * *

**A Darkling Plain**

_She felt his thought, the gentlest caress._ "Come home, Hermione."

_Strange, how something so tentative could be so solid._

_She touched her mirror as he thought again,_ "Please."

_He heard her say "_Yes," _and she was in his arms._

He enfolded her in his arms, his eyes reflecting all the agony of everything he wanted to say, couldn't say, the emptiness where "I can" should be.

To hell with the world. He wanted to say "I can." He wanted not to have made the decisions that led him away from that possibility. He'd done everything for her lifetime to make amends, to prevent everything he'd learned too late meant anything from tumbling down a disastrous course.

Not for himself.

Of course not.

He didn't matter.

But now with the young witch in his arms, her fists buried in his coat, it mattered more than anything that he didn't matter, that she did, that he couldn't say –

Any of it.

He would not lie to her.

Ever.

Even if "ever" only lasted a few more days.

He could do that much for her.

He closed his eyes, and swallowed, drawing her face, still damp, into the hollow of his shoulder, stroking her hair. "Shh…"

It wasn't an arbitrary sound at all.

_Oh, Hermione._

She held on as if her life depended on it.

In a way, it would, until it didn't.

Then there would be nothing to hold on to.

"Severus?" she said, hoarsely.

He murmured her name into her hair.

"May I – may I ask something of you?"

"Of course," he murmured.

Her lips against the rich, dark wool, and she whispered, "Can you just say the words?"

Directly over his heart.

"Shh…"

"Just this once."

"Hermione, I – " he stopped.

"They're just words," she said, after a moment.

His hands stroking her back, his cheek resting on her head, "Please, Hermione. Don't ask that of me. Please."

"What can it hurt, Severus? With everything else?"

"Me."

She was quiet for a moment. His hands, still stroking, slower. Eventually, she nodded, and held his coat tighter, pulling him closer to her – solid –

"I'm sorry," she said, finally.

"Shh… So am I, Hermione." His eyes half-opened. "But - "

"No, I understand, I do." She wasn't lying.

He drew her over to the chair. She sat, not letting go of his coat.

He crouched, half on the chair, half kneeling before her – awkward, a little painful, the way his back was twisted. But not for anything would he ask her to loosen her hold.

She leaned her head against him again, wanting only to see the endless expanse of darkness. It filled her vision, and she welcomed it, resenting the low glow of a last spark in the ashes, a spot of red intruding onto the unmarked perfection of a field of velvet black.

"Hermione, hear me on this. Please. I want you to remember something."

She nodded.

"When I asked you to come home…"

She buried her face more deeply into his shoulder.

He held her, one arm around her shoulders, eyes staring into the distant darkness of the far window, full dark, too far for a reflection. Very softly, he spoke into that distance. "I meant it."

She stopped blinking.

He felt her go still. _Yes, Hermione. A little further…_

"It's not a place, for you, is it," she realized, quietly. "How could it be..."

"Indeed." _A little more…_

She looked up at him, at his hair falling across his forehead, at his clear eyes, unblinking against an expanse of time, distance, of severance, an isolation that would have driven anyone who was bound less mercilessly than he was to the place where even the screaming stops.

"It would have been kinder to send you to Azkaban," she said.

"Possibly," he said simply.

She reached to his hair, falling over his eyes. "I shouldn't have asked that of you."

"Perhaps not… but you haven't answered my question."

Her brow furrowed. "The one you didn't ask?"

"Yes."

She paused. "I came home, Severus."

"Did you know what you were saying, when you said yes?"

"Not fully, no" she conceded.

Her frankness cut through part of the maze he was wandering, and he turned his eyes to her, the corner of his mouth giving the slightest twitch.

She loosened her hold long enough to let him sit more comfortably, but instead of joining her on the chair, he kneeled in front of her, taking her hands in his.

His thumbs moved almost pensively on the backs of her hands.

"I can't love you. I can't do more than promise to protect you as well as I can until I am the only thing, the last thing you need ever face. And I can't offer you more than a few days."

She looked at him, a strange, problematic smile growing on her lips.

He swallowed nervously.

Her smile grew slightly.

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Hermione," he began, slightly defensively, but she stopped him.

"I'm sorry, Severus. I'll try to stop smiling."

Gathering her to him, exasperated, burying his face in her hair, he growled, "Don't you dare."

Her smile grew much less problematic at that.

"Yes," she said, her breath on his neck.

His arms gentled, strong, around her, and his lips parted and he exhaled, very softly, into her hair. His voice sounded strangled. "Say it again."

"Yes."

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, they were no more than what their arms could hold.

He was not her former teacher. She was not his former student.

He was neither murderer nor spy, and she neither brilliant nor scary.

Sometimes everything has no name.

Sometimes it's not a place.

Sometimes it's not time.

Tayet appeared on the back of the chair, trilling softly. Time matters differently to a phoenix.

Without releasing each other, they reached out automatically to touch her.

Her trill deepened, and she flew to the mantel, her wingtip caressing their hair as she passed overhead.

Severus moved to the chair and drew Hermione into his lap. _Accio cloak,_ he thought, and it settled over them.

She worked her fingers in between two of his buttons, through the gap where his shirt tied, and rested her fingertips in the hollow of his throat.

They closed their eyes, and didn't sleep.

/x/

"What did they call them?" Mrs. Black demanded, softly, of Phineas Nigellus.

"Who?" he responded irritably. He was trying to hear.

"The blood traitors. Never could tell them apart." She shrugged. "Long, pinkish string-like things. Seemed quite useful."

He turned to her, for a moment at a loss for words. "And what," he began, exasperated, "would you do with an Extendable Ear, if indeed you could have one?"

She sighed.

He arched his eyebrows. Not unsympathetically.

/x/

One letter left. Dumbledore could see the names on the first envelopes from where he sat.

He'd been expecting the first: Rufus Scrimgeour.

And the second wasn't a tremendous surprise. Filius Flitwick. So few to choose from, really.

Dumbledore sighed quietly.

He could not make out the salutation of the third letter, beyond the words "My dear…"

/x/

Fred and George were walking to the edge of the wards before Apparating.

"Good to see Charlie. Wasn't expecting that."

"No."

They stopped walking and looked at each other.

In unspoken agreement, they turned around.

/x/

Ron was snoring.

Harry lay in bed, not sleeping.

/x/

Molly drew the covers around Ginny's shoulders, bent down and kissed her forehead softly. Ginny mumbled in her sleep. "Sweet dreams, Ginny, dear." She rested her hand on her daughter's hair, her wish a blessing in the moonlight.

/x/

Dumbledore watched as Minerva stacked the envelopes neatly on her desk and tucked the small cloth bundles containing the Horcruxes into her robes. Had he had breath to hold, he would have.

"Oh, Albus, really. You look as though someone left the sugar out of your lemon drops. Either way, I _will_ see you before the night is over." She smiled at him – a strangely young smile – and he nodded.

/x/

"Harry," Arthur whispered into the room.

Ron mumbled something in his sleep and turned over.

Harry looked up. He could just make out Mr. Weasley's face in the dim light from the hallway.

"It's time."

As Arthur, Molly and Harry headed for the end of the lane, where Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were waiting for them, they did not notice the deep shadow near the woods.

Fred and George barely heard Tonks' "Wotcher, Harry," and Kingsley's deep rumble, "Hogwarts first, then?"

Five quiet _pops_, and Fred and George stepped out of the cloud of Darkness powder.

"Definitely dodgy," George commented, his throat oddly tight.

"Definitely."

"On, or back?"

They considered briefly, then they both thought of Ginny.

They turned back toward the Burrow.

/x/

_"Hermione,"_ Severus' thought rippled the smooth, dark surface of her mind, breath on silk.

She sat up and took his face between her hands.

He ran his hands up her sides, the cloak pooling through his fingers.

He leaned his head in and claimed a brief kiss.

A small sound from her throat as her fingers wound in his hair.

His hands tightened on her sides, and for one more moment, he held the world at bay.

Then –

"It's time, then," she said.

"I'll use the mirror once I have him controlled."

She nodded.

They stood.

He touched her cheek briefly.

He was gone.

A few minutes later, he called to her, and she, too, was gone.

/x/

Tayet fluttered down to the hearth.

Here?

Yes.

Tayet tweaked her beak. Once. Twice.

There.

Steeling herself for the shift, Tayet zoomed into the hallway and warbled at Phineas Nigellus and Mrs. Black.

/x/

Grimmauld Place sat empty, save for two worried portraits.

And two phoenix feathers on the hearth.

One black.

The other, white.


	36. Why

A/N: My most humble appreciation to Luna305 for beta and concrit above and beyond, and to everyone else who provided sustenance during the writing of this chapter: Potion Mistress, Indigofeathers, Wandlimb, and Anastasia.

* * *

**Why**

Severus drew his cloak around him. It was already losing Hermione's warmth. "Wormtail," he sneered, picking up the rat that had tried, unsuccessfully, to hide in the long grass by the gatepost.

The rat squealed and worked its hind legs in vain against the air.

Setting the rat on the cracked asphalt in front of the gate, Severus glanced around. The street was empty. He was careful to keep his wand as hidden as possible as he pointed it at the trembling rat.

The rat held itself absolutely still.

With a negligent flick of his wand, Severus made it clear that he expected Pettigrew to transform.

A horrible creaking sound as bones displaced, stretched, and reshaped.

"S-s-severus," Wormtail greeted him, eyes darting from side to side as he licked his lips nervously. "A… a… plea - "

"_Imperio._"

Pettigrew's eyes went slightly unfocused and he stood, waiting.

Severus motioned him into the shadow, out of the eerie gold glow of the nearest streetlight. Sighing, he brushed his fingers against the mirror in his pocket and called Hermione.

She Apparated a moment later and, catching sight of Pettigrew – a still, hunched figure; empty; awaiting filling – she inhaled sharply but successfully fought the urge to take a step backwards.

She shot a questioning look at Severus.

Although his will was sufficient to work the spell, he spoke the words aloud for Hermione's benefit. "Obey Hermione's commands, Peter."

"Peter?" Hermione asked, a little startled to hear his given name.

Severus scowled. "His kind are notorious for finding cracks and working through them."

She nodded.

An empty bag, a bit of trash, scraped on the street in the slight breeze, and she jumped.

Severus' hand tightened perceptibly on his wand. "Test it. Quickly."

"Do I need to call him Peter?" she asked, not taking her eyes off of Pettigrew, who, even standing still, seemed stuck in a perpetual flinch.

"It will serve."

"Peter, erm… " She couldn't think of anything. "Get that pebble."

Pettigrew flicked his wand and the pebble floated into his hand.

"He still has his wand?" Hermione demanded of Severus, eyes growing wide.

"He is your weapon, Hermione."

Her eyes grew harder as the implications of his words sunk in. If they were intercepted, or attacked, Pettigrew could be made to fight on their side. She whispered, "You don't anticipate…"

"No." He reached his hand to her cheek, and looked at her seriously. "But anything can happen. Should a situation arise, or deteriorate, and you have time, order him to protect Potter."

"And then… ?"

He hesitated. "If you can, get to the main lobby and Disapparate to Hogwarts. If not, do whatever it takes to survive until I arrive."

"But - it's the Ministry! You can't risk going there!"

"I can't _not_, if Potter is in danger, Hermione," he reminded her quietly.

Her heart in her throat, she nodded.

"Use your control if Potter fails," Severus said.

"But - "

"Think, Hermione. We need to know what he can do."

"You want me to spy on _Harry_?" she accused him.

"Yes."

His eyes glittered, hard, in the shadows, and she sucked her breath between her teeth, reminded sharply of who he'd always been.

She nodded, and he continued, "You have done Side-Along Apparition?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, actually."

_Blast._

She saw his thought in his expression. "When would I have needed to?" she asked, a bit defensively.

Severus calculated the time, and, without warning, reached for her and Wormtail.

A moment later the yard was empty.

/x/

Minerva was waiting just inside the gates, and ushered Harry through first when they all appeared. "Molly. Arthur," she said kindly, as they stepped through. She nodded toward Tonks and Kingsley. "We don't have much time. Potter, you are clear on what must be done?"

"Not really," he said, looking at the headmistress with wide eyes. It was all happening too fast.

She looked at him, startled, and before she could school her expression to its usual brusqueness, her eyes betrayed fear.

Harry swallowed. "The life-debt can be paid this way?"

"Makes a kind of sense, Harry," Tonks interjected.

"If it works," Kingsley muttered.

Molly's hand tightened in Arthur's.

"So I just… say, 'You owe me a life-debt; do this and it's paid,' and he does it?" Harry said, mind whirling in increasing panic.

Arthur nodded. "If… if it…" He couldn't finish.

"It'll work, or it won't," Tonks said briskly. "And it's nearly time."

Harry looked a question at all of them, but could not bring himself to ask it.

"And if it doesn't, lad, we'll step in. We have means at our disposal you're not allowed," Kingsley said gruffly.

Harry nodded, more in gratitude than understanding.

"Very well," said Minerva, opening the gates. "We shall Apparate to the Ministry and head straight to the Department of Mysteries. Hermione will meet us there, with…" Minerva hesitated. "With Pettigrew." _I hope,_ she thought.

"There's no one else with them?" Kingsley demanded.

Minerva shook her head. "No one," she said, in a tone that brooked no further discussion. She reached for the gates and they filed back outside them.

Kingsley and Tonks exchanged a look of professional concern. This had all been laid on much too quickly.

Tonks moved to guard Harry as Minerva turned to shut the gates, but Kingsley lagged behind. Keeping his voice low, he asked, "Wouldn't it be more prudent to wait, Minerva? This is no plan at all."

"It will work, or – or not," Minerva said, quietly. "If it doesn't, waiting serves his purpose more than ours." Minerva's voice seemed to come from somewhere far away. Gathering herself, she turned to Kingsley. "You are prepared to take over, if… "

He nodded.

The gates of Hogwarts closed.

Minerva thought that somehow the sound they made should have been louder.

/x/

In an instant, Hermione found herself and Pettigrew on the sidewalk by the red telephone booth and a _pop_ told her Severus was gone.

"In there," she pointed at the booth.

Wormtail stepped in obediently, and she followed, trying inasmuch as possible not to touch him.

"Dial 62442," she directed him.

He did so.

She breathed more easily with every order he followed.

"Peter Pettigrew and Hermione Granger," Wormtail spoke evenly into the receiver.

Hermione closed her eyes - _I don't like this_ - and barely heard the disembodied voice ask the purpose of their visit to the Ministry of Magic. _I don't like this at all._

He looked at her and waited.

She hesitated. "Make it sound convincing," she said finally.

"Just following orders," Wormtail replied.

Two badges slipped into the coin return, and they were in.

/x/

"Nymphadora Tonks, Harry Potter, and Kingsley Shacklebolt," Kingsley said into the receiver, a few minutes later. "Here on Auror business."

More badges.

Minerva looked at Molly and Arthur, and put a hand on Arthur's arm. He looked at her, and had no words.

She and Molly turned to each other, and Minerva was astonished to find herself drawn into a warm, comforting hug.

"Minerva," Molly said fiercely in her ear. "It wasn't your fault. Do you hear me? Not your fault. You've been an outstanding mother, to all of us."

Molly's hug tightened to the point where Minerva found breathing difficult.

And as suddenly as it had happened, it ended. Minerva's hand fluttered aimlessly and dropped, then rose again.

She leaned in and kissed Molly's cheek. "You are a dear, Molly. Such a dear." She patted her elbow and, after one last, somehow searching glance at Molly and Arthur, stepped into the phone booth.

"Minerva McGonagall, Acting Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." She paused briefly, closing her eyes, and continued, "Fool's errand."

Another badge.

Arthur and Molly stood together on the sidewalk, their hands resting gently on each other's arms. They had already said everything there was to say.

"Molly," Arthur began, but she stopped him with a finger to his lips and a forgiving smile.

She took his hand and started into the telephone booth. Her voice was perhaps a little too bright, but nonetheless determined. "Do you remember the time, Arthur, when the twins turned Ron's teddy into a spider?"

Despite himself, he chuckled.

"Was that Fred or George?" she continued.

"Fred."

"You're sure it wasn't George?"

"Quite sure."

"I always thought it must be George."

"It was Fred."

The telephone booth door closed.

Two more badges. Both read, "Bearing Gifts."

/x/

For as long as she lived, however long that would turn out to be, Hermione never forgot her trip down the elevator with Peter Pettigrew.

Standing as far away from him as she could – emphasized with a "You stay over there," for good measure – she watched as the numbers changed. Her mind was ricocheting between "What if?" and "I hope," and try as she might she couldn't get it to still.

She refused to look at him.

"Are you going to let him kill me?" he asked, his voice a high-pitched cringe.

She flinched. "I didn't tell you to talk."

"You won't let him kill me, will you?"

Hermione stared determinedly at the numbers.

When it became apparent that she would not reply, Pettigrew spoke again. "He's controlling you, too, isn't he… he must be, such a clever girl, surely you can see it?"

Hermione pretended to ignore him.

"You can, of course you can," he pressed on. "He's on his own side, you know, you must know, you must see it… "

"I see a cringing rat," she spat.

His voice was wheedling, but an unpleasant light grew in Pettigrew's eyes. "Everyone he touches ends up dead. He killed them – James, and Lily, it was his betrayal. He bragged about killing Dumbledore. How the old fool pleaded with him – begged him – trusted him… "

Hermione closed her eyes briefly.

Pettigrew sensed an advantage, and spoke faster, his voice raising, his eyes alight with a rheumy mania. "He died with tears in his eyes… flying, a broken doll, off the tower, how his hands scraped on the stone, still enough life in him to bleed… "

Hermione glared at the numbers and felt in her pocket for the mirror.

"_Are you safe?_" she heard Severus' instant thought.

"_I think so. We're in the elevator. I hate him._"

A silence. "_He _is_ a loathsome creature._"

"_I don't like this, Severus._"

"_I don't either. Watch him, Hermione._"

She broke contact in time to hear Pettigrew finish, "… and he'll kill you too."

She whirled on him, wand out. "Shut up!"

Pettigrew could not speak, but his eyes shone dangerously.

_Damn._

"You will not mention him again." _Stop talking. Just stop talking. Breathe._

Pettigrew stared at her in intent, triumphant silence for the remainder of the slow descent.

It seemed an eternity before the doors opened and she stepped out into the stone corridor.

/x/

Harry swallowed hard as he followed Kingsley down the corridor. He could do this.

/x/

Hermione had ordered a still silent Pettigrew to stand in front of the veil, wiping the sly, smug look from his face. She made sure he was close enough to hear the whispering and shot him a triumphant look of her own, holding him at wandpoint.

A fiction, but a necessary one.

She did not take her eyes off him as the others came down the stairs, but she could just see Tonks' strawberry colored hair as the Auror stationed herself in the doorway.

"Pettigrew." Harry's voice sounded low but clear in the chamber.

Pettigrew looked up, eyes wide, saying nothing.

Minerva handed Harry the small bundles as they fanned out around the veil. Hermione backed up until she was but one in a circle of wands, all pointed at Pettigrew.

Only then did she look at Harry, in time to see him square his shoulders and walk up to the dais on which Pettigrew stood, trembling.

"Why, Peter?" Harry asked. "Why did you betray my parents?"

Hermione eased her hand toward the mirror.

"It's your fault they're dead, Peter. All of them."

Pettigrew's eyes were darting frantically around the circle. His back to the veil, controlled, he could not run.

"My father. My mother. Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. All of them."

Hermione's hand touched the mirror. "_It's started._"

She felt a reassuring pressure. "_Get your hand out of your pocket, Hermione. Be careful… _"

"Why, Peter?" Harry asked again.

The silence rang out, empty, as the veil fluttered.

"_ANSWER ME!_" Harry shouted.

Pettigrew flinched and sent a pleading look at Hermione.

"He can't speak, Harry."

The rest of the Order members exchanged startled glances at that, but remained silent.

"Hermione," Harry began, his voice low, but she heard the effort control cost him. "I need to know."

Did he really? Hermione's mind flew too quickly for conscious thought and alighted on _No._ She spoke. "Because he's weak, Harry. It was because he's weak."

Kingsley's voice broke the tension. "Harry."

"I saved your life, Peter. I showed you mercy, and you would have watched me die. You owe me." He held out the bundles. "Pass these through the veil, and drop them on the other side."

Hermione held her breath. _Please, let it be enough. Let the life-debt be enough._

Pettigrew stared at Harry, fighting the life-debt, but finally reached out to take the bundles.

With the wrong arm.

And Harry let him.

Hermione and Minerva gasped, and they all watched as Pettigrew extended his hand – his human hand – toward the veil.

Then Hermione remembered that that Harry didn't know about Dumbledore's arm, that he would be responsible for Pettigrew's death. She couldn't -

"Use your other arm, Peter!" she commanded, her voice ringing too loudly in the chamber.

His silver arm glinted in the torchlight.

The circle closed in on him.

They all held their breath as the silver arm disappeared through the veil.

He whimpered, a high, keening sound.

He withdrew his arm, and his hand was empty.

Molly reflexively looked at herself to make sure she was still there. Minerva's nostrils flared. Arthur's free hand moved involuntarily toward his wife.

Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, her heart pounding loud in her ears. She knew it was only a matter of time before she was asked for –

"Because Severus forced me to," Pettigrew whined, shooting a sly look at Hermione and reaching for his wand.

In that moment, Hermione knew two things.

That he was lying.

And that the veil had broken the Imperius Curse.

/x/

In the library in Grimmauld Place, Severus' hand flew to his heart as the Compulsion flared to life.

He gritted his teeth. _You cannot protect him if you are dead, Snape. Focus._

He concentrated on his breathing.

/x/

A piercing shriek from the doorway broke into untold reverberating fractions, and, in a split-second reaction, Pettigrew transformed.

An arrow the colors of nighttime streaked toward the dais, shrieking, furious, raging, straight at the veil -

"Tayet, NO!" Hermione screamed, but Tayet was already back-winging, the force of her flight deafening as she beat the air and the veil rippled outward, the whispers loud enough to echo throughout the chamber.

Pettigrew squealed, his humanity overwhelmed by instinct, and he cringed backward, away from the talons opening toward him, the furiously beating wings –

- and, as he cringed, the bottom of the veil rippled behind him, over him, and he was gone.

/x/

Severus could breathe again. He reached for the mirror.

/x/

Tayet landed on the dais and glared for a moment at the spot where Pettigrew had been an instant before.

The Order members erupted in loud, unguarded confusion –

"Bloody - "

"Was that - "

"Oh, Arthur!"

"Merlin's beard!"

"Did you just – "

"Fawkes!" Harry's voice was the loudest.

The noise startled Tayet, and with a loud "Squerk!" she flew to Hermione's shoulder.

The noise silenced the Order, who turned as one to stare at Hermione.

With Tayet peeking out through her hair, Hermione blushed furiously.


	37. For Once Then Something

A/N: My thanks, as always, to Anastasia, She-Who-Must-Be-Named. Thanks to Luna for the beta and the criticism. And to my readers, thank you for your patience. Bit of a busy week this week, but summer's coming…

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**For Once, Then, Something**

_The noise silenced the Order, who turned as one to stare at Hermione._

With Tayet peeking out through her hair, Hermione blushed furiously.

"Miss Granger!"

"Hermione, dear - "

"Hermione!" Harry advanced cautiously on Hermione, as though she were some new species Hagrid had bred rather than one of his best friends. "Hermione," he began again, easing carefully toward her, not wanting to startle the phoenix. "That's not Fawkes," he breathed.

"No," she said quietly, "she's not Fawkes."

At the word "she," Arthur, Molly, Kingsley and Minerva exchanged pale looks.

Tayet rubbed her head on Hermione's cheek. Hermione reached up to stroke her. She could feel the mirror growing warm in her pocket, but that couldn't be helped.

"Her name is Tayet."

"A phoenix," Harry said in wonder.

Hermione half-laughed. To Minerva's ears, she sounded slightly hysterical. "Of course."

Kingsley's voice rumbled, "That's impossible."

Hermione, Harry, and Tayet all looked at him, and Tayet sang a few notes – unmistakably phoenix song. And unmistakably amused.

Molly was still patting herself vaguely as if to reassure herself that she hadn't died. "Is there… " she began weakly, then, finding her voice, she tried again. "Is there anything else we need to do here?"

Everyone looked expectantly at Hermione. A shadow of fear remained on Molly's and Arthur's faces, and a certain over-rigidity lingered in Minerva's posture.

"No," Hermione said quietly. "I don't see how there could be. The Horcruxes are gone – not even Voldemort can get them back now – so it seems logical to conclude that the Indemnities vanished with them."

They all stared at her, blinking, apparently afraid that even a breath would somehow undo what had just happened.

"Anti-climactic, isn't it," Hermione said, feeling absurdly as though she should apologize. Then her hackles rose. Would they have preferred it be otherwise?

Molly leaned on the arm of a suddenly flushed Arthur, and Minerva's face broke into a smiling map of wrinkles as she took her first full breath in what felt like a lifetime.

Hermione reached into her pocket and gave the mirror a fleeting brush before she realized Harry was still looking at her.

"Hermione," he began, but a soft call from Tonks stopped him.

"Not here, Harry," she said from the doorway.

Hermione, trying to be inconspicuous, took her hand out of her pocket.

"And not tonight, lad, not unless… " Kingsley looked at Minerva, who nodded.

"Tomorrow morning, 7 a.m." Minerva said, starting to herd everyone away from the dais and up the stairs toward where Tonks was still at her post. "Everyone, I think."

The Weasleys and the Aurors nodded, but Harry shot a dark look at the headmistress before turning back to stare at Hermione and Tayet.

Drawing Hermione away from Harry and the others, Minerva spoke in a low tone. "I believe it would be best for you to return with me to Hogwarts, Miss Granger – if you think it" – she pursed her lips – "she – will follow?" Minerva looked a little dazedly at Tayet.

Hermione nodded, then wished she hadn't. A hundred plausible explanations for returning to Grimmauld Place sprang to mind, but it was too late; Minerva was sweeping up the stairs behind her. Tayet spread her wings a bit to keep her balance.

Harry tried to fall back to get closer to Hermione as the Weasleys exited the chamber, but Kingsley's hand on his shoulder stopped him. He glanced back at the veil, once, before dropping his head and allowing himself to be led out.

Only Hermione caught the determination in his eyes before he looked down.

/x/

In the empty chamber, the veil fluttered softly on the dais.

Perhaps there was whispering still. The Unspeakables had yet to determine if the whispering continued when there was no one in the chamber to hear it.

They'd been arguing that one for centuries.

And Tayet wasn't telling.

/x/

"Mum!" Ginny cried, throwing herself into Molly's arms as the Burrow contingent entered the living room.

Bill and Charlie stood, speechless, looking from their mother, in wonder, to their father, questioning. Every freckle stood out starkly on Ron's face as it drained of all other color.

"I'm _fine_, Ginny, I'm right here, dear."

The twins grabbed their mother and sister between them in a fierce, wordless circle. As he backed into the kitchen to where Tonks had put the kettle on, Harry heard Ginny wail, "How _could_ you?"

Closing his ears – or trying to, to give the family some privacy – he joined Tonks.

"Could you grab the tea, then, Harry?" Tonks said, the circles under her eyes doing nothing to diminish the lilt in her tone.

"A battle won is a battle won," Kingsley rumbled sagely, nodding at Harry as he leaned in the window frame and looked out on the darkness.

Harry blinked at that, then asked, "That phoenix… why was everyone so worried about the fact that it's a girl?"

Tonks leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms. She looked at Kingsley.

"There's no such thing as a female phoenix," Kingsley answered gravely, his dark eyes worried.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

The corner of Tonks' mouth twitched and she looked down at her crossed arms.

If Kingsley registered her amusement, he didn't show it. "If you think about it, you'll see why."

Harry frowned at Kingsley. "Or you could just tell me," he said.

"They don't come from eggs, lad."

Harry crossed his arms and waited.

Kingsley looked at him, and finally chuckled. "Fine, then. You'd do better to ask Hagrid for the earthy bits, and, for the philosophy, you should talk to… " his voice caught, and his gaze darkened slightly before he shook it off. "Well, you could always ask Minerva, I suppose."

Tonks broke in with a snort. "He thinks there's no such thing as a female phoenix because they don't need to mate, see?" She glared at Kingsley.

"Exactly," Kingsley muttered.

"But what he really means by 'There's no such thing' is that there's never been one before, and he's too much of a sodding prat to know the difference."

Kingsley had the decency to look startled.

"Maybe I'll get a Tayet tattoo," Tonks mused. She cocked her elbow to look at her upper arm, and knocked over the sugar tin.

/x/

Minerva closed the Hogwarts gates behind them, and Tayet zoomed off toward the lake. Something in it was moving, and if it flashed she might catch it.

Minerva turned to Hermione, her eyebrows raised, and Hermione smiled slightly and shrugged.

"I'm not certain," Hermione said, with a glance in the direction Tayet had flown. She half-turned, expecting the headmistress to move immediately toward the Entrance Hall, but despite having lit her wand, the older witch didn't move.

"Miss Granger," she began, seriously, although her eyes were unmistakably sparkling in the wand light, "Your solution was remarkable."

Hermione's face grew warm.

"Remarkable indeed," the older woman beamed at her. "I am quite… quite pleased, and profoundly grateful. You cannot know how much." She smiled.

Hermione returned her smile.

For the first time in days, it was just a smile. The smile of a favorite student.

/x/

In the library at Grimmauld Place, Severus had begun, once more, to pace.

Table… archway… bookshelves… loveseat…

Once his breathing had returned to normal after the Compulsion had constricted around his chest, he had received only one fleeting touch on the mirror.

Loveseat... bookshelves… archway… table…

He told himself he was thinking.

Table…

His pacing slowed.

Something had triggered the Compulsion. Harry, in danger, the Department of Mysteries.

Archway…

Unlikely to have been a Death Eater attack, not there. Almost certainly not without his Dark Mark flaring, not once Pettigrew had been spotted.

Very probably not.

Bookshelves…

Other enemies in the vicinity… Pettigrew, of course, if the Imperious Curse had lifted. The presence of Pettigrew had been enough, once before. Of course Hermione would have been as much a target as Harry, had that happened…

Loveseat…

… but probably not a physical target. A verbal attack, maybe.

Severus winced.

Nothing to be done right now if word of their… collaboration – _Coward_ - was out. _His own voice, in memory: "I won't be there to help you."_

The touch on the mirror had been reassuring, though.

Bookshelves…

If the Curse had been lifted, somehow, Pettigrew had either been Cursed again - _Would she? … Yes. Quite probably… _- or he'd escaped again - _She wouldn't have let that happen… nor been reassuring if he had…_ - or was dead.

Archway…

There was also the possibility that Potter's danger had come from the veil itself. Perhaps he had gotten too near it and tripped.

Severus scowled.

_I breathe, therefore he didn't trip. Delightful._

The mission had probably been successful, then – in which case…

Table…

… Hermione was being questioned.

Severus sat at the table and stared blankly at the smooth lines and whorls on its surface.

After a moment, he reached for the parchment that had yielded Molly's name.

It was inert.

He raised an eyebrow at that, and reached for Minerva's.

Also inert.

_Interesting…_

He'd read about the possibility of such an Arithmantic effect before, but had never witnessed it, nor met anyone who had.

Except possibly Dumbledore.

He reached for Hagrid's.

Balanced, kinetic.

He stood up again.

Archway… bookshelves… loveseat…

He resisted the urge to touch the mirror.

Bookshelves…

He couldn't contain his curiosity.

Archway…

And where the bloody hell was Tayet?

He stopped pacing and swept into the hallway. "Mrs. Black?"

Neither Mrs. Black nor Phineas Nigellus did more than blink.

"Have you seen Tayet?"

"Yes. She flew by on her way out. Awfully polite, for a chicken," Mrs. Black's voice was softer than her words.

Phineas Nigellus gestured toward the kitchen. "She flew that way, warbled, and disappeared."

Severus ran his hands into his hair. His fingers caught on the braid, and he disentangled them sharply. "Where did she go?"

Phineas Nigellus looked at him sharply. "First the witch goes off her head, now the wizard?" He turned to Mrs. Black. "This doesn't bode well."

Severus waited, staring.

"I don't speak 'warble,' young man. Do you?" Phineas Nigellus turned from him, then a got a hazy look.

Mrs. Black drew in a breath. "Hogwarts?" she asked.

Phineas Nigellus nodded and left the frame.

Mrs. Black looked at Severus. "He always gets that look right before he leaves. Must be a difficult transfer." She looked at her frame and frowned. "He'll bring back a report, though. He can't resist a good gossip afterwards." She smiled, only a little evilly. "Some of it is even true. Usually."

Despite himself, Severus asked.

"The gossip? Or the report?"

Mrs. Black shrugged. "Yes."

/x/

They talked little as Minerva swept up the marble staircase and ushered her along the fastest route to her office. Only after the gargoyle had swung back behind them and they were well up the spiraling stairs did she speak at all, and then only to inquire whether Hermione would care for tea.

"No, thank you, Headmistress," Hermione said.

"Well, I myself could use a spot of something stronger, but I believe I will have the house-elves send a tray regardless. Ah, good - " she said, entering the office. "They've left the lamp, as I asked." Removing her traveling cloak, she continued, "There are one or two subjects on which I'd welcome clarification before the meeting of the full Order in the morning."

"Of course." Hermione stifled a yawn.

Minerva paused on her way to the fireplace. "Miss Granger, I realize you're done in. This won't take long, and you may of course stay here tonight."

Hermione's mind seized on the word "may," and some flicker of an eyelash would have betrayed her in that instant had the headmistress not already been turning back to Floo the kitchens.

"You're sure you wouldn't care for tea, Miss Granger?" The headmistress' voice sounded muffled.

"Quite sure, thank you." Hermione was anxious to have done with this conversation. She glanced up into the shadows toward Dumbledore's portrait, and was startled to find the frame empty. Her eyes swept the frames for him and fell on Phineas Nigellus, who winked at her and shook his head slightly.

"Coffee, then?" Minerva had come partway back into the circle of light cast by the glowing lamp on her desk.

Hermione barely heard the older witch; she was trying to read some message in Phineas Nigellus' expression. "Pardon?" she asked.

"Coffee?" Minerva repeated, patiently.

Phineas Nigellus tilted his head behind him and shook his head again. Not here, then, and not in Grimmauld Place. "Thank you," Hermione said, turning to the headmistress in time to see her head back to the fireplace.

Hermione stood by the desk, waiting.

Minerva was smiling slightly. Although the Malfoys had been in England since the time of the Norman Conquest, the family was infamous for their Gallic affectations. The Slytherin table – and everyone else within earshot, which included the High Table, where one could hear almost everything spoken by the students – had often been treated to young Mr. Malfoy's lengthy morning diatribes regarding Hogwarts' lack of civilization as far as breakfast beverages were concerned.

The request made to the kitchens, Minerva returned to her desk and picked up the three envelopes she had left centred on it.

Hermione averted her eyes from their obvious significance.

Minerva tucked two of them into her robes, then tapped the corner of the third thoughtfully against her cheek. She sighed, and put it face down on her desk.

"Are you aware, Miss Granger, that there has never been a female phoenix?"

Hermione shook her head.

"It's always been assumed that because their succession is rather different from other Magical Creatures that sexual difference was unnecessary among them."

Hermione put on her best classroom face and nodded again.

"Regardless, a phoenix was historically considered male, until Hagrid suggested that they should more appropriately be designated "neuter" – a notion that Professor Dumbledore considered quite insightful."

The young witch looked up, startled, and the headmistress smiled at her. "He really does have a remarkable knack for the study of Magical Creatures, Hermione. His position at the school was not merely a sinecure, not granted merely out of Professor Dumbledore's seemingly endless supply of good will."

Hermione smiled, and nodded.

"You said her name was… "

"Tayet," Hermione supplied.

Minerva looked at her.

"I assume this name has some significance to you?"

"Yes, some," Hermione agreed, "but it's difficult to explain without the full context."

"Very well, Miss Granger. Can you tell me how this… this marvelous creature came to be?"

"I can describe what happened, certainly, Headmistress – but I can't begin to explain it."

Minerva couldn't help beaming proudly as Hermione delivered a heavily edited version of her Arithmancy workings.

"That formula would, I believe, have resolved into two names, as it required the recognition of James' sacrifice as well," Hermione finished.

"You did not see any names?" Minerva sounded both solemn and shaken.

"I – I didn't see them, no," Hermione finished lamely. "The parchment burst into flames, and when it turned to ashes, Tayet was in the middle of them. And - "

Minerva leaned in slightly. "Yes, child?"

"And my patronus just… appeared. I didn't call it. It seemed… curious."

"Your patronus is an otter, I believe?"

"Yes, Headmistress."

"Hm. And you're quite sure you didn't Summon it?"

"Quite sure."

Minerva's eyebrows arched. "Remarkable. Most remarkable." She sat back in her chair, and stared at the lamp's reflection in the dark windows.

She did not tell Hermione that the fact that Tayet was female was not the only anomaly she presented. Phoenixes had been one of Dumbledore's favorite research areas, and he could – indeed, had – gone on for hours about them. Every detail of their history, every mention, every theory regarding their origin, even their influence on Muggle mythology and their role in the Muggle paradox about chickens and eggs – a question originating in the Wizarding world as "Which came first, the phoenix or the ashes?"

Minerva's brow furrowed. She strongly suspected that Tayet would put at least one division of Unspeakables out of business.

The headmistress tapped her lip with a long finger on which rested a ring with a dark red stone. Hermione watched it reflect the lamplight as the headmistress thought.

Every recorded phoenix, every mention, in all the literature, insisted that phoenixes be the colors of flames.

Not of twilight, dusk, and midnight.

Minerva wished that there had ever been stability in the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Something of Hermione's Arithmancy, of her narrative, of her sources at Grimmauld Place, bespoke an influence by, or at least proximity of, Darkness.

But the spontaneous appearance of a patronus… That suggested… _Oh, dear,_ Minerva thought, glancing at Dumbledore's empty portrait frame. _Oh, dear._

That had happened to her.

Once.

When her daughter was born.

A house-elf Hermione had never seen before brought the tea things and a steaming mug of coffee.

Unthinking, she reached for it, steeling herself against its bitterness.

Minerva sighed, and made a mental note to talk to Lupin. His insights might be helpful, even if he wasn't half the Dark Arts theorist that… She flinched. She forced herself to continue. _… that Snape was._

"Is your coffee strong enough, Miss Granger?" she asked, quietly, coming out of her reverie.

"Yes, it is, thank you."

"It is admirable of you to protect Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione went slightly green. "Mr. Malfoy?" she repeated, shocked, her mind racing.

Minerva watched her closely from behind her glasses. "Young Mr. Malfoy, Hermione," she said quietly. "He always preferred coffee; by his third year, half of Slytherin House had acquired a taste for it."

When Hermione realized the headmistress was talking about Draco, and not his father, she unconsciously relaxed. _She thinks it's Draco... of course; that would make sense… oh, dear._

Minerva was confused by Hermione's reaction. _Did the child think I meant… Lucius? Surely her source can't be Lucius Malfoy… but she _did_ relax when she realized I meant the son…_ Startled, she peered more closely than ever at Hermione. _How deep is she _in

Hermione held her coffee steadily and returned the headmistress' gaze.

"Miss Granger, is there anything you wish to share with me?"

"No," Hermione said. "No."

They regarded each other steadily.

The silence was broken by a cough, and the looked up to see Albus Dumbledore back in his frame.

"Minerva," he smiled.

"Albus," she nodded.

"Well done, Miss Granger. Well done, indeed," he said quietly.

Feeling very suddenly awkward, Hermione replaced her mug on the tray and turned to Minerva.

Minerva reached for the envelope on her desk and hesitated slightly. "This seems less important now, but… this was for you, Miss Granger. In case… Those others I will burn; they were administrative – but this one - " a shadow of doubt crossed her eyes, and Hermione saw her consciously decide to ignore it. "But I should very much like for you to have this one."

Hermione wordlessly took the sealed envelope.

"Until tomorrow morning, then, child. Do try to get some sleep."

/x/

Severus sat at the table, drinking brandy.

He restrained himself from touching the mirror only through extreme act of will.

With each sip of brandy his will slipped infinitesimally.

His one consolation through years of spying had been knowing the movements and situations of both sides.

That was lost him, now.

He sighed.

A small enough loss, all things considered.

He felt the mirror warm in his pocket.

His hand was on it and it was out of his pocket, in his hand, before he consciously reached for it. _"Hermione,"_ he thought instantly.

The mirror clattered on the table, and he stared at his hand. She'd ensnared his reflexes.

His face changed color, very slightly.

He touched the mirror again.

After a moment, he thought he felt her smile.

_"Help me call Tayet?"_ she asked. _"She's zooming over the lake and doesn't seem to hear me."_

Mentally, Severus nodded.

Two thoughts, one word. _"Tayet."_

He felt Hermione relax.

Only then, he did.

/x/

"If anything else happens, I'll go barking," Ron said to Harry once the family was finally upstairs and everyone had gone to bed. He was picking at a thin patch on his Chudley Cannons bedspread.

"This probably isn't a good time to bring this up, then," Harry replied, unable to keep the hope out of his voice.

Ron looked at Harry with something close to trepidation. "What now?"

"Hermione is in the middle of this, somehow. Without us. We have to get to Grimmauld Place."

"But - "

"I'm going. Tonight. Now. Are you coming with me?"

"Sure, mate, but how? We still can't use the Floo – not with Shacklebolt snoring on the sofa – and if we try to sneak out to the edge of the wards, we're sure to get caught."

Harry opened his trunk and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak.

"Think we can both still fit underneath?"

The light of adventure was instantly kindled in Ron's eyes, matching the intensity of Harry's determined expression. "We can sure as hell bloody try."

A tense moment on the stairs as a step creaked. They heard the sofa springs creak as Kingsley moved, but the snoring soon started again.

A few moments later, they were outside, down the lane, and at the edge of the wards.

Ron looked toward Harry. He could barely make out his shape in the near-total darkness. "You know, it's one thing to be in the corridors after hours. They're Order members, but they're also Aurors, Harry."

Harry's voice was flat. "I know."

Ron nodded. "There's going to be hell to pay."

They separated, and Harry tucked the Invisibility Cloak under his arm.

They concentrated. Harry screwed his eyes shut and focused.

_Destination… Determination… De…_

/x/

_…liberation._

Hermione Apparated behind Severus before he'd had time to stand up.

Her hands on his shoulders, running around his chest, and his head leaning back against her, his hands rising to her wrists, moving slowly on her forearms, brushing her sleeves away, skin...

Their eyelids fluttered closed, lost in his trailing touch, alive where his fingers, palms, touch, trailing…

She tipped his face around toward hers, leaning down, their lips a breath apart, and his touch on her cheek, and they were still, a breath apart…

And every breath they drew was…

/x/

"Bloody hell!" Ron shouted.

Harry's eyes flew open, and then widened in shock. "What… what!"

They couldn't believe their eyes.

They had Apparated – they'd felt it. But they were still standing some distance outside the Burrow's wards, with the lights of Ottery St. Catchpole twinkling in the distance.

* * *

Note on sources: The title of this chapter is from Robert Frost's poem of the same name.


	38. Falling

A/N: My thanks to Luna305 and TimeTurnerForSale for reading this chapter at the busiest time of their respective work years. A special thanks to Hypnobarb and Tobert for recommending AWS in various fora. Wishing you all the best of times... Ariadne

* * *

**Falling**

_They had Apparated – they'd felt it. But they were still standing some distance outside the Burrow's wards, with the lights of Ottery St. Catchpole twinkling in the distance._

_And every breath they drew…_

"Hermione," he murmured, running his hand up her arm as he rose from the chair, keeping his face bowed to hers.

"Severus," she whispered, turning her face up as he stood, her arm encircling his waist, drawing him closer.

_… every breath was… _

A brush of lips – swift, soft – brushing, light, a touch, a gesture…

… the backs of her fingers smooth down his cheek…

- sudden stillness, then – into her hands –

_… until neither was aware of breathing at all._

… her hands a gentle choreography under his hair…

- lost, baffled, broken, lost, seeking -

… her hands on the back of his neck, trailing down…

- in darkness, up, toward the surface, up, almost, strong, almost, proof, almost, arranging -

… fingers listening she heard, fading in from darkness, yes, something like music, rippling, shaping, movement, lips, skin…

- he, overthrown, commanding -

… and she fell, long, far from somewhere, sharp, a drop of falling water falling, sudden, blackness, an edge, sharp …

… and into his skin she drew -

- and from his lips… "Glorious."

It was a long time before either remembered that they were breathing.

Or that at some point they had somehow climbed two flights of stairs.

Mrs. Black and Phineas Nigellus could have told them when, and how, but neither Hermione nor Severus thought to ask.

/x/

"Did you see that?" Ron, eyes wild, demanded of Harry.

"See what?" Harry had taken off his glasses and was rubbing them on his shirttail.

"Before we… bounced – or whatever we bloody well did – did you see…"

"Ron," Harry insisted in a harsh whisper. "Did I see what?"

"I thought I saw…"

Harry waited, but Ron didn't finish. Harry put his glasses back on glared at him.

The night noises around the Burrow had never seemed so loud.

"Saw what, Ron," Harry said, something akin to anger overwhelming his initial surprise.

"I'm not sure, Harry." Ron's lips twisted in disgust. "Something like a…" Ron caught Harry's warning look and swallowed. "Give me a minute, all right? I'm still a bit wonky after... " He jerked his head vaguely, then suddenly dropped to all fours.

Harry soon realized why. The world seemed to tilt sharply, and his ears buzzed. He sat down hard, just outside the wards, and tried to breathe evenly.

Ron sounded like he might be ill, but he choked out, "Get back inside the wards, Harry. Now."

They half-crawled and half-collapsed back inside the perimeter around the Burrow.

Slowly, things stopped their unnatural spinning, and their breathing returned to normal.

"That hurt," Ron muttered darkly.

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

"Rather a lot, actually." Ron sounded unusually reflective, and Harry shot a look at him.

"You saw something, before we bounced?" Harry swallowed.

"More… more felt something, really. I can't place it. Dunno why I said that." Ron shrugged, but frowned. "Something moving. Sort of… rippling?"

Harry had never heard Ron sound quite this confused. "Rippling?" he repeated blankly.

"Yeah. Funny," Ron said pensively.

Harry concentrated but couldn't remember feeling anything like what Ron was describing. "Side-effect of Apparition, maybe? Not splinching, exactly, but… ?"

Ron shook his head, and winced. "Still hurts, a bit. No. Never heard of anything like that. Charlie would have said something; took him forever to get the hang of Apparating. He made every mistake at least twice."

They sat at the end of the lane for a while.

"'Sides," Ron continued. "I might botch an Apparition still, but both of us?"

Finally, Harry stood and unfurled the Invisibility Cloak.

As they started down the lane, Ron said, "Harry, it's almost as though we weren't supposed to be there."

Startled, Harry almost tripped. "That can't be right. They had to have my wand to set the wards for the Order."

Ron shrugged, and they walked on.

They made slow progress for a while, during which Ron was unusually silent. They were almost to the house when he stopped suddenly. "Harry," he said quietly – the windows were still open – "this is bad."

Harry adjusted the Invisibility Cloak, which had pulled slightly askew.

"Harry, I'm serious. There's something that doesn't want us there."

"You sure you're not just foggy from the bounce or something?"

"No, Harry. I'm not," Ron's voice was grave, and Harry was reminded somehow of Mr. Weasley. "I've never been more certain about anything."

Harry did not know what to say.

Ron cracked a worried smile. "Well, except spiders. I'm pretty clear on spiders."

/x/

"I… I fell," she whispered, wonderingly, finally leaning back into softness.

"Yes…" his palm against her neck, cheekbone on collarbone, leaning, maybe, relaxing, into her, the first time, her arm around him, hand, light, on his shoulder.

His hair fallen on chest, her stomach – she traced it, slipping, circling, silk, around, against…

"I fell…" she breathed.

He pressed his lips to her, and chuckled darkly. "You are surprised?"

"Yes… no… Why?"

A tattoo of lips on skin, tracing upward, a change of angle, until she could see his eyes.

His palm smoothing up to join her hand, covering hers, cupping, holding, turning her hand palm up, pressing a kiss there, closing her fist, his hand over hers. "Your questions are becoming incoherent."

Her lips twisted wryly, tired. "You noticed."

Shadows under her eyes – his finger, tracing, gentle bruises. "There is very little that I don't notice, Hermione."

"Thank you," she said, still distracted by the feeling of falling.

He merely closed his eyes and nodded against the curve of her shoulder, her neck.

"For catching me."

"I will always catch you."

"Kind of you, considering," she said.

"Considering?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

She could feel it on her neck, and smiled again.

"You're the one who pushes me. So yes, considering."

"Would you have flown or fallen if I hadn't pushed you, Hermione?"

She shook her head, covering his face in the sudden cloud of her hair. He blew it out of his eyes, lips quirking as his hand came up to brush the loose strands off of his face. "No."

"And?" He seemed to expect an answer.

"Now whose questions are vague?"

"Yours are incoherent. Mine was not."

She laughed, in a chuckle that was eerily reminiscent of his own.

He twisted a finger in her hair and tugged. "That's disturbing, Hermione."

She chuckled again. "Good."

Sitting, angling an elbow over a cocked knee, he continued to play with the hair. He tugged again.

She drew her knees up to her chin and her eyes sparkled wickedly at him. "That's not very nice," she said, "pulling my hair like that."

"No," he agreed conversationally, twisting a curl around his finger. And around.

And around again.

The tug was constant, insistent, and she allowed herself to be drawn closer to him, looking at him from half-lidded eyes that might have been sleepy, might have been amused, and might have been anticipating…

And around again.

Her hand flew out for balance as she had to lean forward, catching her breath, expecting…

No tug came, just a gentle brush of lips. He untangled his fingers and smoothed her curl down her arm, finger trailing down her arm to trace her knuckles where her hand rested flat.

"Bastard," she said. "Seems I'm always falling, one way or another."

"Very good," he said, sounding pleased.

"What new game is this, Severus?" she looked at him, her tone confirming that she knew something was happening.

"An old one, Hermione," he began seriously.

"And?" she cocked an eyebrow at him.

"That's very disturbing, when you do that."

"I doubt that." She waited, expectantly.

"Falling is a simple metaphor."

"Obviously. But it's more than that," she countered.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"It's part of flight, Hermione."

"Landing?"

"Yes."

"Without crashing."

"Exactly."

She sighed. "You are too obscure for words."

"For words, perhaps. But not, I think - " he tilted his head back as if reading her face " – for comprehension."

She looked at him carefully, and nodded.

"There is much about my past you know nothing of, Hermione."

"I know what happened to you, and why you - "

A finger on her lips.

Startled, her eyes flashed, angry.

"Please, Hermione. Just listen."

She blinked, and the anger banked. Slightly.

"You know some of what I endured." Running his hand up under her hair, smoothing it away from her neck, a strong, slow smile curving on his face as she leaned her head into his palm. Drawing her toward him, breath, warm, hot, on her neck, he murmured, "Not what I enjoyed."

She froze.

He waited.

She forced herself to relax, and he felt the effort it cost her.

Finally, she whispered, "Don't tell me tonight, okay?"

His eyes softened. "Of course." He drew her into his arms and held her in the shadows.

/x/

Tayet's talons clicked on the hearth. One might have thought she was pacing.

She tilted her head, considering her feathers.

Her talons clicked on the hearth for a while longer, and then she flew, a short flight to the other side of the sofa. Gripping a parchment envelope in her talons, she executed a graceful curve and angled through the archway and up the stairs.

"Whirp," she said, softly, to Hermione, who opened one eye.

Severus' arm was flung over her stomach, and she knew that if she moved she would awaken him. As much as she was dreading the Order meeting, the conversation he would have with Voldemort would be worse.

Hermione took the letter, stroked Tayet's neck. Tayet made a soft whirring noise, and perched on the headboard.

Hermione reached for her wand and used it to light a candle and to unseal the envelope.

Severus opened his eyes but didn't move.

The letter was short.

_My dear Miss Granger,_

_I believe you will understand what this once meant to me, and why I am giving it to you._

_Had things gone differently, I would shortly have been sending you your own, a moment I confess I have been looking forward to, with pride, for several years._

_That I cannot do. But this small token of my esteem, my regard, and, yes, my affection is yours, with gratitude._

_This is not the one you should have had. I remain hopeful that you may yet have your own._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall_

Hermione tilted the envelope, and a very old dull silver badge fell onto the sheet.

In very old-fashioned, old school letters, it read, "Head Girl."

_It was hers._ As Hermione closed her hand around it, as Severus' arm tightened around her, as he drew her closer to him, as he curved around her, as he nestled his face into her hair…

… and even as she leaned into his warmth, the metal clasp of Minerva McGonagall's badge pricked her thumb.

Enough to draw blood.

She closed her eyes and swallowed, hard.

She did not unclench her hand. She had earned this. All of it. The badge. The pain. The blood. And the lean, smooth comfort of Severus against her back, his breath warm on her neck, his hair, hers to braid, and his eyes – so many shades of empty, black, and burning.

And she wanted it.

All of it.

Minerva's respect, her affection.

To resume her rightful place at Hogwarts.

And the man. This man.

If the chance cost her a moment of pain, a few drops of blood, a scar – well, others had paid more dearly than she, and for far less.

So far.

Their pain was worse, their blood was more, and their scars were visible – deeply engraved, and permanent.

So far.

Tayet whirred wistfully from the headboard.

Severus' eyes were still open. He didn't know what had happened.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

When after several minutes Hermione spoke, her voice carried with it a cool, salty wind of unshed tears, but her tone was steady. "Severus?"

_Remarkable,_ he thought, even as he drew her closer and smoothed her hair off of her forehead. "I'm right here."

"What are you going to tell Voldemort?"

He didn't know what had just happened. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

He knew it was important.

And when, despite whatever it was that had happened, she asked him what he was going to tell the Dark Lord, Severus knew what it was to fall.

He wouldn't have time to tell her later. "I'm falling, Hermione."

"I'm right here," she said.

He reached for her hand.

Her thumb moved slowly, stroking gently on the back of his hand, a smudged, bloody thumbprint blurring on his skin.

Desperation, passion, and sacrifice.

Timing, will, and fury.

And Tayet watched, and waited.


	39. Unspeakable

A/N: With gratitude to Anastasia and Luna305, as always. Special thanks to Tobert and his Marauders for Wednesday night's mischief and mayhem.

* * *

**Unspeakable**

_Her thumb moved slowly, stroking gently on the back of his hand, a smudged, bloody thumbprint blurring on his skin._

Desperation, passion, and sacrifice.

Timing, will, and fury.

And Tayet watched, and waited.

"He said you forced him," Hermione said, finally, still rubbing her thumb on his hand. "Pettigrew. Harry asked why he'd done it – betrayed his parents, and everyone, and he said, 'Because Severus forced me to.'"

Severus' eyes flashed in the shadow she was casting in the candlelight. "Potter will believe that."

"Of course – because he'll want to." She thought for a while. "I don't know how I'll be able to convince him not to."

"Don't try."

Hermione rolled toward him and the unblocked candle flame sparked to life in Severus' eyes. "Don't? Why not?"

"The effort you expend trying to convince Potter – in vain - may reveal too much about - " he tucked a curl behind her ear " - to the rest of the Order. They will not take your word for my… status, Hermione. Not when they barely trusted Albus. No," he continued, tracing her hair on her skin. "Any attempt to convince Potter will only give them cause to mistrust you."

She said nothing for a few moments. "That's not fair." Her eyes were angry, and her thumb was still bleeding.

He chuckled. "An insight far beneath your usual standards."

"Not fair to you, I meant." She raised her head to rest it on his shoulder, and his arm came around her.

He couldn't help but laugh at that. "No, not fair at all." He laughed again.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Around 4:30, I think. You should sleep."

"There's no point."

He looked at her with brutal delicacy and appeared to reach some sort of decision. He drew her over him, then, and she sighed, brushing their mingled hair out of his face, following one strand down his neck, to his shoulder.

Tayet whirred, very softly.

"What is it, Tayet?" Hermione glanced at the phoenix.

Tayet whirred more insistently, and rustled her wings.

Hermione looked at Severus. He was watching her intently, fingers splayed, lightly circling on her back. "What?"

"You're bleeding," he said.

"I pricked my thumb on… I pricked my thumb."

The atmosphere in the room shifted, darkened. Tayet gave a low, throaty "Whrrr." A caution. As a warning, Hermione found it oddly reassuring.

Severus felt the change and looked up. He reached to the bedside table for his wand and closed the bed-curtains.

They rippled shut, waving slightly, and Tayet's note deepened.

Hermione was in his mind instantly. _"Are we in danger?"_

_"You are."_

Tayet's voice washed over Hermione. _"From?"_

_"Me. More accurately, us."_

Hermione looked at him. She could barely see his eyes in the shadows. _"Why?"_

_"Because I am a dangerous man, and because this is -"_ he brushed his hand across her shoulder, down her arm, drawing a finger up her spine. His hand coming into her hair, he spoke aloud. "Unspeakable."

His kiss promised everything if she but dared, everything she feared she would never be allowed to keep.

Tayet's low descant rippled beneath the shadows.

"Unspeakable." Hermione laughed darkly. "Taboo, you mean."

Still kissing her, he murmured, "That is the Muggle term, yes."

"Like breaking time," she breathed.

He held her head still for a moment, then another kiss. "Death. The veil. That which is living cannot pass it."

"I've never understood why love has its own Unspeakables," she said.

"Because of this." A confirmation.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head into his shoulder, brushing his collarbone with her lips.

He drew a sharp breath, tilting his head back, an offering, a surrender. "Hermione," he said, "may I tell you?"

She nodded.

"Every true mystery has a line, Hermione – a line that cannot be crossed without payment, in full. Dumbledore crossed the veil of death. The Dark Lord has profaned the limits of time."

"Our little lives are rounded with a sleep." Her voice was low.

His tone changed. Soft. Subtle. Hermione listened.

"Everyone has a line they will not cross, and they are judged, by others, on where that line is. To my mind, though, the location of that line is only half the equation. The true measure of a person is not based only on where it is – that is far too easy - but on how close to the line a person is willing to live."

Tayet was silent.

"My line is not static. I have not had that luxury, but I have been given that chance."

"Because of Lily. That line moved, because of Lily."

"Twice."

"And you found yourself on the wrong side of it, that second time."

"Yes." He held her closely for a moment, and then forced himself, deliberately, to loosen his arms. He touched her eyebrow gently, one hand dropping to the pillow, the other coming to rest, lightly, on her hip.

"Beyond that point, I felt only revulsion for… my necessary actions. But up to that point - " He inhaled slowly. "Do not imagine that I did not enjoy them, because I did. Make no mistake, Hermione. It's part of who I am."

She said nothing.

"I enjoyed them very much."

"And you remember that pleasure."

"Yes." He paused, tracing a slow line along her hip. "How fine is your judgment, Hermione?"

"There is a difference between an action and its quality, and as large a difference again between identical actions in different contexts."

"Moral relativism, Hermione?" he raised an eyebrow in a softer, slower echo of its usual sharpness.

She looked deliberately at Tayet on the headboard, and back to him. "In case you've not noticed, Severus," she said patiently, moving her fingers into his hair, "you're not the only one standing right on that line. Or perhaps beyond it," she whispered, watching the bed-curtains rippling, softly, although there was no movement in the air.

He watched her carefully.

"You've enjoyed this," she said.

"Yes."

"All of it."

He would not lie. "In a way, yes."

"Scaring me."

He nodded, slightly.

"Marking me."

His eyes glittered darkly.

"And telling me you will kill me?" Her tone was no different when she asked this question.

His eyes sharpened. "There is a line, Hermione."

"That one cut me."

"Yes."

"And did you enjoy that?" Her fingers tightened in his hair.

Tayet shifted on the headboard.

"Who stopped the bleeding, Hermione?"

"I'm still bleeding, Severus." She hooked the braid she had made with her little finger. Tayet's tear glistened at the tip of it, a low, sparkling obsidian, even in the shadows.

"As am I."

"And?" She looked directly into his eyes.

"I will never not seek that line, Hermione. But I will never cross it. I can give you that eternity, but that is the only eternity you can ever have from me."

She ran her thumb down the braid.

He smiled. Sadly. "I've been brutal."

"And I've not broken."

"No. Should we find a way through this, I fully expect to bear the brunt of your fury for what I've done to you."

"Count on it."

He smiled again. Not sadly at all. No, this was a different smile.

It wasn't a nice smile, and she matched it.

She pressed her bloody thumb to Tayet's tear, and Severus inhaled, hissing, his body arching.

_"Hermione, what have you done?"_ His thoughts were alarmed, dizzy, in her mind.

_"Hurts, doesn't it."_ She did not move her thumb.

His breathing was ragged. _"You will notice, however, that _I_ am not screaming."_

_"Of course not."_ She laughed softly.

His breathing slowly returned to normal.

He turned to her, amazed. A tinge of fear. _"Hermione, what have you done?"_

_"Crossed a line."_ Her thought sounded strangely stretched, and, perhaps, pleased.

He brought his hand up to cup her chin. He could just see her eyes – and he knew, even without light, that they were somehow warm, somehow dark, somehow alight. _"A rather permanent gift, Hermione."_

She kissed him slowly, then rested her cheek against his. _"Permanence is what you understand."_

His thoughts smoothed under the feel of her skin. Resting his hand lightly on her shoulder, his thought came whispering, breathy. _"Why did you do it?"_

_"Because now we're even."_

He moved to touch the mark over her heart, and, tracing the dark ring and the dark, swirling cloud, he felt the truth of her words. Finally, he spoke. "We remain unspeakable."

She shrugged, but he sensed the shadow in her eyes. "I, for one, would rather not cringe accidentally backwards through the veil. There's a difference between getting dragged into the arena and walking in."

Tayet trilled her agreement from the headboard, and the shadows lightened.

"Impressive," he murmured.

Hermione trailed the end of the thin braid against his neck. "It's something Harry told me once."

He started to growl, but she put a finger on his lips. Back in his mind, she said, _"The line, Severus? It's right here."_

/x/

At that moment, the author of the insight Severus found so impressive was twisting his shoelaces around his finger in Ron Weasley's bedroom.

"I don't understand, Ron. We definitely left here, and definitely made it almost to Grimmauld Place?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. 'S what it felt like." He swallowed and looked uncomfortably out the window. "You were there, Harry. At the Ministry. She really would have done it, wouldn't she?" His fist had closed on his pajama leg, and he was twisting the maroon cloth.

Harry glanced at Ron then looked away. His gaze fell on the door. "She would. Professor McGonagall, too."

Ron was quiet for a long time.

Harry could not have spoken even if he had known what to say.

/x/

"Albus, how am I supposed to convince them not to push her? They're going to want as much information as she can give them!" Minerva glared at the portrait.

Dumbledore glared back. "And she will tell them what she _can_. No more, Minerva. It is crucial that Harry not know that she is not working entirely alone."

"I know he hates young Mr. Malfoy, Albus, but surely he can set that aside? Knowing would lend more credibility - "

"More credibility than is rightfully hers for her Arithmantic skill? Only two people in the Order will be able to understand her formulae, much less the theory behind it."

"Three. Bill Weasley."

"Two, Minerva." He looked at her gently. "I am not a person."

Her throat tightened. "Albus, they _will_ push."

"A leader is sometimes at odds with those who follow, Minerva."

She considered him dourly for a moment. "Albus, please, tell me she's not mixed up with Lucius Malfoy? She's a child."

Dumbledore shook his head. "She's not."

Minerva relaxed slightly at that, but her eyes were still shrewd. "Do you know for sure that it is Draco, then, Albus?"

He returned her gaze calmly.

She turned to Phineas Nigellus' frame. "Do _you_?"

Phineas Nigellus scowled at her. "Of _course_ not." Minerva could not see the hand he held behind his back.

Back in Grimmauld Place, Mrs. Black could – it had just appeared in her frame.

She was delighted to see that his fingers were crossed. It always meant a good gossip, afterwards.

* * *

Note on sources: Hermione quotes Shakespeare's Prospero, from _The Tempest_:

We are such stuff as dreams are made on/ And our little lives are rounded with a sleep.


	40. In Nomine

A/N: The title of this chapter translates to "In the name." Thanks, as always, to Luna and TimeTurnerForSale.

* * *

**In Nomine**

_Harry could not have spoken even if he had known what to say…_

/x/

__

"The line, Severus? It's right here."

/x/

__

"Of course not!" Minerva could not see his hand behind his back…

/x/

The sun was just slanting over the garden wall and into the kitchen as Severus set a mug of coffee before Hermione, sipping his own as he sat next to her.

The tear on the narrow braid caught the sunlight and blazed darkly. With a proud gleam in his eye, he tossed his head slightly, flicking the braid off of his neck, hiding it behind the rest of his hair.

Hermione caught her breath, and the corner of his mouth moved slightly.

_"I love it when you smile."_

_"That wasn't a smile."_

_"If you say so…"_ A lingering touch, and she was out of his mind.

They drank their coffee quietly, neither wanting to break the silence.

A noise from the Floo did that for them. On their feet, wands out instantly ready.

Then Hermione laughed. They were threatening a bowl of steaming porridge and a warm scone.

"Molly did say she would send meals," she said, slipping her wand away.

Severus scowled. "You might have warned me."

"And what fun would that have been?"

His scowl deepened, and she laughed again, picking up the tray.

"What if she'd delivered it in person?"

Hermione stopped laughing, but her eyes twinkled mischievously.

Severus groaned inwardly.

"The wards, Severus. Remember? Besides, she's just following orders. My research is to continue uninterrupted," she said, innocently, handing him the bowl of porridge.

"Thank you," he said, but he was eyeing the scone.

Hermione held it away from him. "None for you. It's your fault we're out of flour."

Grimacing slightly, he ate his porridge.

Hermione picked a bit off the scone and considered him carefully. "When are you going to have to report?"

"I shall go when you leave for Hogwarts. You are taking her, yes?" He nodded toward the garden, where Tayet was again practicing pulling out of steep dives. Severus was reminded of the Wronski feint, and his lips twitched.

"She usually follows me. She's rather fond of the lake." Hermione winced as Tayet zoomed closer than ever to the ground, before pulling out of it. "Honestly," she muttered. "Doesn't she have any sense at all?"

Severus' mouth twitched uncontrollably, and he couldn't repress a chuckle.

"What," Hermione demanded, still watching Tayet.

"She rather reminds me of you."

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him.

"Stop that," he said pleasantly.

"No." Equally pleasantly.

"Do you know what you're going to say?" he asked her.

"They'll want to know about Tayet, of course. I'll tell them what I told Minerva, unless she handles that part. They're going to want to know how I found Pettigrew; Minerva assumes that I've been working with Malfoy - "

"Draco?"

"Of course Draco. She did seem to think, for a moment, that it might be his father, but - "

"She suspects, Hermione." His tone was too quiet.

"What?"

"She suspects. She's shrewd. Something you've done – said, the way you've held your head, a gesture, something – something has given her the idea that something about this is too sophisticated for Draco, and too Dark for you."

Hermione considered, turning her mug in her hands, replaying her recent interactions with the headmistress. "Perhaps…"

He looked at her seriously, and she sighed.

"Okay, probably, then." Hermione sighed, and set her mug down next to her half-eaten scone. "I'm not very good at hiding anything."

"I've noticed."

She shot a wry look at him. "Still. I don't think she suspects that it's you."

"Probably not yet – although the thinking that led her to Lucius should lead her to me." He pondered his reflection in his coffee.

"So between the coffee and the phoenix, it's only a matter of time?"

"The – coffee? What?" He was startled.

"She offered me coffee. I was trying to read the old crank's gestures - " she gestured with her head toward the hallway, "and I said yes. One does acquire a taste for it, after all. She still thought that meant 'Draco.'"

"She will cling to that illusion for as long as she can. Her mind will shy away from me while she allows it to." He set his mug down a little too carefully.

Hermione said nothing. She reached for her mug again, but set it down without drinking. "Severus," she said.

He knew that tone, and his eyes grew more alert. It was the tone in which she had always said "Sir," right before asking a question that would connect a current assignment with one the curriculum wouldn't cover for two years.

"Severus, why isn't Tayet red?"

He swirled his coffee and finished it. After checking the angle of the sun, he Summoned the pot from the sideboard and refilled their mugs.

"Probably because she was born of something at least proximally Dark."

Hermione tilted her head and thought about that. "Right on the line, I should say."

Severus' eyes warmed. "Chaos."

"And I'm supposed to tell that to the Order."

"I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Did you spend any time with Fawkes?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

"His personality was not unlike Dumbledore's."

"But she reminds me of you." Her eyes widened in horror. "Oh, dear."

Him? He was startled. "Blast."

Together – "Damn."

Severus suddenly found his coffee mug extremely interesting, and Hermione inspected her scone with minute attention. Their faces seemed to color slightly. It could just have been a trick of light from the early morning sun -

Tayet zoomed in through the window and looked at them both, then trilled joyously. She was, without question, amused.

- but it wasn't.

Tayet zoomed back out the window and performed a dizzying series of ascending spirals.

Hermione broke another piece off of her scone. "So what are you going to tell Voldemort?"

"That rather depends on what he asks me."

"And if he just asks you to report?"

"I have some experience improvising, Hermione," he said cautiously. "If he knows Pettigrew is dead, then I will blame it on Pettigrew's carelessness at allowing himself to be captured. No loss. If he does not, I will allow him to believe that Pettigrew's nerve has snapped."

She looked at him. "And will Voldemort believe you?"

"Possibly." Severus shrugged. "He will probably be more interested in my investigation."

She glanced at him. "The Dementors?"

"What's gotten them so excited, yes."

"Oh, dear."

"Pettigrew, Tayet – they are all variables. The more variables he believes are in play, the more distracted he will become. That could be useful, when the time comes."

"And if he doesn't believe you?"

He reached a hand to her hair.

After a moment, she nodded.

He stood. "_Accio cloak._"

Hermione watched as he made the transformation into a Death Eater.

He paused before putting on his mask. "If they give you an opportunity to strengthen their belief that you are working with Draco, take it."

"Of course… but why, in particular?"

He regarded her calmly. "He wants to finish school too, Hermione, if he lives."

"I should have thought Durmstrang."

"Indeed. But England is his home."

She nodded again.

He put on his mask, and Tayet landed on the windowsill and appeared to scowl. "Time to go."

"Severus, wait."

He looked at her, eyes hardening, from behind the mask.

She reached up and kissed him before he could object.

He tried to pull away, but her hand clenched in his hair. A low, menacing growl emanated from his throat, but her other hand came to his throat and rested there, her fingernails grazing, sharp, on his pulse.

His gloved hand closed, tightened over her wrist.

Leaning into the feel of her skin and the skin he couldn't feel through his glove he was lost briefly in the darkness and she held him there.

She ended the kiss and smoothed his hair off his mask. His eyes were bold. Proud.

"Now," she said. "Now it's time."

/x/

"Think we'll finally find out what Hermione's doing?" Harry asked Ron as they walked up the lane to the Entrance Hall doors.

"Yeah," said Ron, "probably. Hope so. Bloody strange not having her around."

Harry glanced sideways at Ron. He'd known they had put an end to that side of their relationship, but wasn't really sure how Ron was taking it. Then he shrugged.

They were lagging a few steps behind the rest of the Weasleys. Kingsley was behind them, and Moody was thumping along several paces back, bringing up the rear, save Tonks and Lupin, who were still at the gates. Everyone was rather carefully not looking back at them.

Everyone except for Moody, whose magical eye kept swiveling in its socket.

"Didn't think Ginny was ever going to stop whinging." Ron changed the subject, shooting a look at Harry. "Mum," his voice pitched an octave higher, imitating her, "I'll be much safer at Hogwarts than here without the rest of you, Mum…"

"I'm glad I wasn't within hexing range when she found out she had to stay behind with Fleur," Harry grinned.

Ron rolled his eyes in agreement.

/x/

Several minutes later, they were filing into the headmistress' office.

Hermione was already there with a stack of parchments, making notes on a list that already bore evidence of several revisions. Her fingers were ink-stained. Without realizing they were doing so, Harry and Ron both relaxed slightly, even before she looked up at their arrival.

Hermione, parchment, and ink stains. Three pillars of their childhood, intact before them.

Then she caught their eyes and smiled a greeting before turning back to whatever she was working on.

This should have been normal as well.

But it wasn't. Not really.

Neither Harry nor Ron could have said how or why, but when they saw her smile they knew, somehow, that nothing would ever really be the same again.

"She looks tired," Harry said inadequately, as they moved to a pair of armchairs before the headmistress's desk.

Ron looked at him. "Yeah."

/x/

In a moldering, abandoned factory near Spinner's End, Severus stood before Voldemort.

"And is he dead?"

"I cannot say for sure what happened to him after I gave him his orders."

Voldemort hissed slightly.

Severus did not move, did not speak. Only an occasional, steady, unhurried blink revealed him as human.

A thin silence stretched for several heartbeats.

"He outlived his usefulness, Severus," Voldemort said finally. "I should have silenced his simpering long since."

Severus understood the subject to be tabled.

Voldemort gestured him closer, and he obeyed. "And do I sense progress, the scent of this new, sudden chaos that has so incited the Dementors?"

Severus nodded once. "I have found her, and even now she moves in the traps I have laid for her."

"Excellent, Severus, excellent." Voldemort's fingers moved, independently of each other, playing the gleaming dust motes that were traveling upwards in the filtered sunlight. "And what is exciting them?"

"One newly working toward Dark magic."

"Ah…" Voldemort's fingers waved slowly. "And who is doing these workings?"

"A Muggle-born witch."

Voldemort hissed again. "Her name?"

/x/

"Miss Granger, are you ready to report the initial results of your research?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, Headmistress." She explained the Horcrux Indemnities, and outlined the gist of her Arithmantic workings – the same version she had outlined for Minerva.

"Ginny?" Harry and Ron said, involuntarily, as Hermione explained the first and weakest of the Indemnities.

Minerva silenced them with a look. "Miss Granger, as the diary and ring are long neutralized, if you could please summarize your work on the locket and the cup?"

"Of course, Headmistress." Hermione was grateful. She had been uncertain how to explain the ring without revealing too much about Dumbledore's death.

As Hermione described the first Horcrux formula, Molly held tightly to Arthur's hand, and the twins, heads bowed, stared at the floor, glancing as one to their parents when Hermione described the formula's resolution in Molly's name. Charlie's face darkened to an angry red, and Bill examined at the ceiling, eyes bright.

As Hermione described the second formula, Minerva kept her hands carefully clasped in her lap.

Moody's magical eye clicked quietly as it swept Dumbledore's portrait, but otherwise the Auror did not move.

Tonks moved closer to Lupin, resting a hand on his arm.

Kingsley listened dispassionately as Hermione brought the second description to its end.

When she finished explaining the second formula, Bill's eyes narrowed slightly, and he appeared to file some question away for later.

Harry and Ron stared at Hermione, but Hagrid beamed. "Tha's brilliant, Hermione! And a new phoenix, to boot!" He looked at the assembled Order for confirmation, and there were murmurs of assent. Molly and Arthur raised their clasped hands slightly to her in salute, smiling – sad, worried, but smiling.

Hermione closed her eyes.

Bill was already glancing at Hagrid uneasily.

Minerva glanced reflexively at Dumbledore's portrait, then looked again, more closely. He was in his usual sleeping posture, but there was something different. She couldn't put her finger on it, and turned her attention to Hermione.

"Miss Granger, we are all grateful for your finding a workaround for the first two Indemnities," she began. "And the question of the new phoenix will certainly be a matter for conversation before we adjourn. However…"

The silence in her office was absolute, save for the clicking of Moody's eye.

"However," Hermione continued, straightening her spine, and delivering her remarks to Minerva. She could not look at Hagrid. Nor Harry. Nor even Ron. "The remaining Horcruxes are animate. That is, they are contained within living creatures."

"Nagini?" Harry hissed.

The Order turned to him, agape.

"Parseltongue, Harry?" Ron muttered, under his breath.

"One of the Horcruxes is Voldemort's snake, Nagini," Hermione said. Harry shot her a grateful look, and she tightened her lips in what should have been a smile. There was absolutely no mirth in it, and Harry realized what had made his stomach drop when she'd looked up to greet him.

For the first time in their friendship, Hermione's eyes had flicked to his scar first, before meeting his eyes. He was used to this from those raised in the wizarding world. Even the Weasleys did it sometimes, when they were tired, or if they were thinking about something else.

But Hermione had never done it before.

Never.

He sat slightly straighter and looked at her intently, and Moody's magical eye swiveled to stare at him.

If Hermione was aware of either shift, she gave no outward sign of it. "We believe – the Headmistress and I – that because Nagini is rarely far from Voldemort's side, she will have to be killed as the first blow in a final confrontation." She looked at Harry. _Oh, Harry,_ she thought. _I am so sorry._ Her eyes were shadowed.

He returned her look intently.

She looked away, back to her notes, and waited for a question. She did not want to answer it, whichever one of several it would be.

Bill's quiet voice barely disturbed the taut silence. "It's Hagrid, isn't it, Hermione."

She closed her eyes and nodded.

The conspicuous sound of everyone looking somewhere else, then -

"NO!" Harry shouted, leaping to his feet. Ron was on his feet behind him.

"And the witch's name, Severus?"

Severus' eyes glittered darkly. "Granger."

"You're WRONG, Hermione!"

"I wish I were, Harry," she said, quietly.

He was across the room, grabbing her arm, before anyone else could react. "You ARE. You HAVE to be."

Bill shook his head. "She's not, Harry."

Harry didn't hear him. "How do we know you're right? How do we know you're not being used, by Voldemort? Or one of his spies? Hermione, you're wrong, you have to be." He turned to the rest of the Order. "She has to be wrong." His eyes fell on Hagrid, who seemed to be frozen. He wheeled back to Hermione. "How could you?"

/x/

"Granger, yes… a friend to That Boy."

"I believe there is a growing rift between them."

"She is the one whose scent I taste, Severus?" Voldemort's eyes gleamed.

Severus inclined his head, his eyes a hard, black mirror.

Voldemort's mouth opened in what passed for a smile.

"An excellent strategy, Severus…" Voldemort tasted the air with his tongue. "And not without its satisfactions, yes?" He gestured smoothly. "Continue your investigation, then. You are dismissed."

Severus bowed and turned. His cloak was still rippling when he Disapparated.

/x/

Harry jerked Hermione's arm and her quill flew, spattering ink onto her face, Harry's glasses, and several nearby portraits, including Dumbledore's.

Her eyes flashing, she was on her feet, her arm tight, tense, her fist closed - immobile, trapped, but physically daring him to shake her again.

"Fine, Harry," she spat. "Who would you rather it be, then?"

She waited, her eyes boring into his. Harry said nothing. Neither of them blinked.

"Mr. Weasley, this time?" she asked in a voice devoid of pity.

His eyes widened, and his grip on her arm loosened.

Pulling her arm out of his grasp, she looked at him, eyes flashing dangerously. "Not Mr. Weasley, then? Ok, then who, Harry? Who?"

Harry took a step back, and Hermione matched it.

"Miss Granger," Minerva began, weakly.

"Ron? Or Ginny?" Another step. "WHO, Harry?"

Harry's eyes narrowed.

Her hair moved about her, furious, as her voice rose. "You choose, Harry, you point, and choose, YOU decide who's going to die. YOU DECIDE, Harry."

In the ringing silence, Lupin moved toward Harry, and Bill toward Hermione.

Hermione held her hand out, and both Lupin and Bill froze. Quietly, even calmly, she said, "You're not the only one with burdens, Harry."

The sudden contrast in her tone washed over the Order in a chill wave.

She stepped away from him and turned to Minerva. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, Headmistress," she said, evenly. Turning to Hagrid, she whispered, "I'm sorry…"

And before the Order could recover its wits, the door was closing behind her.

Feigning sleep in his frame, Dumbledore could have sworn he heard the rustling rippling of Severus' cloak as she left. _Brava, Hermione._ His face was serene, a mask of sleep, despite the apparent efforts of the ink-spattered book that was insistently nudging his hand.


	41. Variables

A/N: Thanks, as per always and ever, to Luna305 and Anastasia.

* * *

**Variables**

_Feigning sleep in his frame, Dumbledore could have sworn he heard the rustling rippling of Severus' cloak as she left. _Brava, Hermione._ His face was serene, a mask of sleep, despite the apparent efforts of the ink-spattered book that was insistently nudging his hand._

Severus took his mask off and laid it on the kitchen table before sinking into a chair and burying his face in his hands. _Hermione, forgive me._

/x/

Hermione stalked the corridors, hands raked into her hair, pressing on her skull, until her breathing returned to normal.

She was outside the Potions classroom.

She leaned her cheek against the rough, aged wood of the door and closed her eyes. The smell of the dungeon, of the sharp, cork-like wood with its rusty metal hinges, was sharp. Comforting.

/x/

Harry stood, lost, alone, in the middle of the office. "I - "

"Hush, lad," said Kingsley gently.

Hagrid said nothing, but when Harry rushed to him, hugging him fiercely around the middle, he said gruffly, "Our Hermione will find a way, Harry. She'll find a way."

Harry wanted nothing more than to believe him.

But he'd stopped believing Hagrid a long time ago.

/x/

Severus found himself staring at the flashing green on the crude carving of the Astronomy Tower. He pressed his palm over it and closed his eyes.

It felt like nothing.

Just a table.

/x/

Hermione's seeking hand closed around the metal ring that served as the handle to the Potions classroom. It turned in her hand, and she inhaled in surprise.

Glancing around the corridor, she saw nothing but the torchlight reflecting on the slightly dank stone walls.

She slipped inside and shut the door behind her.

/x/

Hagrid was still patting Harry's head with a large, awkward hand. He wasn't looking at anyone.

"How did you know, Bill?" Minerva asked quietly.

"The attacks. It fit the pattern," Bill responded, his eyes averted from Harry and Hagrid.

Everyone was startled when Ron spoke up. "Of course. She's worked it backwards."

Minerva glanced at him sharply.

"It's simple strategy. You envision the endgame and play backwards from there. It's a classic defensive approach when you think your opponent has the edge." Ron shrugged.

Minerva considered this for a moment, but before she could reach any conclusions, Lupin took a step forward. "Harry," he said softly, "the situation is not without hope."

Harry nodded against the rough cloth of Hagrid's waistcoat. Brushing the back of his hand over his eyes, he sat down, but kept his head bowed. He clenched his hands together.

"Hermione appears to have figured out that Voldemort works according to a kind of pattern," Lupin began.

Moody added, "Good thinking. Vigilant."

Lupin continued, "It makes a kind of sense. Dumbledore knew it; it's how he was able to learn so much, in that last year. So much that he shared with you, Harry."

Harry nodded without looking up.

"Voldemort is repeating the pattern of the Horcrux murders in the attacks – probably unconsciously. It's a pattern that works for him, Harry. Hermione knows this. She – we may be able to use his predictability against him."

Ron nodded vigorously. "He's right, mate. If anyone can figure it out a pattern, Hermione can"

"Fine," Harry began, his voice hollow. "How did she figure this much out? Didn't she always say that Arithmancy doesn't work backwards without Dark inflection? That you can't work backwards from a solution without altering the initial equation? What was the word she used…"

"Taboo," Minerva supplied. "She said it was a Muggle term."

Tonks confirmed this. "It is. Means it's not allowed." She shook her head. "A shame, really. Things that are taboo are either really attractive" – she smiled shyly at Lupin - "or really useful."

"She had to have worked it forwards, then," Bill mused, "which means she had to have access to - " He cut himself off, and turned to Minerva. "Who is it?"

Minerva looked at him sternly, but said, "She is working with someone, yes."

Moody growled, "Who?"

Minerva glanced at Dumbledore's portrait, but said, firmly, "That is none of your concern."

"Malfoy," Harry spat. "That look she gave my scar. It has Malfoy written all over it."

Everyone looked at him, stunned. Moody nodded in slow agreement.

/x/

Hermione walked slowly to her old seat in the classroom, inhaling the familiar scents that had lingered in this room, unchanged, for years. Centuries, probably.

She sat down and leaned her head on her arms.

/x/

Tayet wheeled high over the lake. Every flash of sunlight in every ripple was fair game. She was going to catch them all.

/x/

Severus placed his mask over the flashing green carving, and reached for the mirror.

One brush. Reassuring. And -

_"Severus?"_ Her thoughts were frantic.

_"Hermione, I had to tell him."_ It was out before he could stop it.

Silence.

Absence.

His chest felt empty.

_"Why?"_ Very small. Disturbingly young.

_"It was the truth. It bought us time. It bought you safe passage to his side, when the time comes. And - "_

He felt her assessing, weighing, accepting. Then, only then, curiosity.

He could feel his heart beating again, even before she gave shape to her thought.

_"And what, Severus?"_

_"Scent, Hermione. He caught your scent."_

In the Potions classroom, her hand flew to her mouth. _"I touched your mask. And we – before you left – oh. Oh, dear. Oh, NO. How could I have been so stupid?"_

_"Variables change, Hermione. And when they do…"_

_"… you adjust accordingly and continue the formula,"_ she recited mentally.

It was the first rule of Arithmancy.

_"So you hurt me to protect me, then."_

_"To protect us both, Hermione. I bought us some time. Not much."_

He felt her nod.

_"Is the meeting over, then?"_ he asked.

_"No; I – I left, for a while."_

_"Where are you?"_

He heard an echo of his own voice – something about "subtle science" and "exact art."

Her name a caress in her mind, as he thought _"Hermione, I…"_ Even unspeaking, he had to stop, to swallow, to breathe. _"I should find that disturbing."_

She laughed in his mind.

_"But I don't,"_ he said. _"I… I am touched, Hermione."_

He felt her smile linger in his mind.

_"Hermione, go to the bookshelf in the back of the classroom."_

She did so.

A few moments later, she was tucking a book into her robes and, after a lingering glance to the front of the room where, so often, he had stood silhouetted against the slanting shadows, she left the room and returned to the headmistress' office.

/x/

"So what about the wards, then?" Ron asked suddenly.

"Wards?" Moody asked.

"Harry and I – well – bloody hell."

"Ronald!" Molly started to say more, but Arthur pressed her hand.

"We tried to Apparate to Grimmauld Place, and sort of… sort of bounced."

"Bounced?" Minerva asked, her lips pinched, disapproving on principle.

"Yeah, bounced. There was some kind of rippling feeling and then we were back at the Burrow."

"Ron felt it," Harry mumbled to his hands. "I didn't."

Ron shrugged.

Kingsley and Moody exchanged looks. "You should have been able to Apparate there. Especially Harry." Kingsley sounded pensive.

Hagrid spoke up. "She was born there, wasn't she?"

"Who?" Moody grumbled. This was something unforeseen, and his mood was growing more explosive by the second.

"The phoenix." Hagrid looked around, blinking. "Is she here? I'd love to see her."

Minerva gestured out the window. "She seems fond of the lake. Perhaps when Miss Granger returns, she will convince her to join us."

"She'd be a baby, yet," Hagrid sighed, eyes mistier with thoughts of a new phoenix than they had been since the meeting started.

Tonks and Molly exchanged sad smiles.

"Hagrid, you were saying?" Minerva's voice broke him out of his phoenix dreams.

"Right. Sorry," Hagrid said, gruffly. "It's just that, when they set the wards, an' all, see, with Harry's wand, and Fawkes' feather, see, who'd have thought there'd be a new phoenix, and wouldn't that change things?" He looked at Kingsley and Moody.

Kingsley nodded slowly. "It's possible."

Minerva stood. "Hagrid, are you saying that the wards are now keyed to Tayet?"

"Is that her name, then?" Hagrid got a faraway look in his eyes, and walked to the window that overlooked the lake. "I bet she's beautiful."

Molly rose and went to him. "She is, Hagrid."

Minerva rose to Floo for a house-elf to find Hermione, but at that moment the door opened again, and Hermione walked in calmly.

"Forgive me, Headmistress." She looked at Harry, and he flinched, but she did not look at his scar first this time. "And Harry. I'm sorry."

Tayet appeared on Hermione's shoulder. Hermione looked at her seriously, then glanced at Hagrid.

Tayet took wing and flew to perch on his arm. She tilted her head at him and considered him sagely for a moment. She seemed to reach some conclusion, and announced, "Whirp!"

Her tone brooked no argument, and the collective Order was startled into laughter.

Hagrid reached out a wondering finger to stroke her neck.

But Harry was not to be distracted. "Talking to Malfoy, were you?" he shot at Hermione.

"Potter!" Minerva said sharply, but Hermione cut her off.

"Well, _someone_ is going to have to kill Voldemort's body, Harry, someone who can get close enough to do it, because the last Horcrux is - "

"My scar. Yeah. I figured that out," he said.

"And that someone will pay the Indemnity. It can't be you alone, Harry, because you're going to be busy dealing with the rest of him."

Harry stared at her, mind racing. "Like in the Ministry?"

She nodded. "I think so."

Moody's eye was whirling madly.

"So you think _Malfoy_ can kill _Voldemort_?" His tone was scathing.

Fixing him with a piercing look, she spoke calmly. "Why is it so impossible for you to accept that someone might change, Harry? To think about what he did, and regret what he did - what he almost did. You know Malfoy'd been crying, that day. Why is it impossible for you to believe that he might want to redeem himself in his own eyes?"

Minerva and Moody peered closely at Hermione.

"Regret? _Malfoy_? Please," Harry scoffed. "Besides, it'd never work. Malfoy's weak. He'll never get close enough, even if his whole family _is_ - "

Hermione's voice was drawn steel. "Have you forgotten already that he almost managed to kill Dumbledore, Harry? Only his 'weakness,' as you put it, kept him from killing him. He could have done it, Harry. He got close enough to Dumbledore." Hermione was looking at Harry with something like pity - a pity that Molly and Minerva found slightly unnerving.

Harry said nothing.

Then Ron's voice broke the silence. "She's right."

"But it'll never work!" Harry protested. "It's supposed to be me – and… and it's a suicide mission, Hermione!"

Hermione swallowed visibly, and she struggled to keep her voice even. "Of course it is, Harry. But I think it's the only way. If it does work, the battle – the real battle – will take place inside of you."

Harry ran his hands through his hair until it stuck up wildly, a strange laughter rising within him. "This is STUPID," he blurted.

Hermione's response carried some undertone, some whisper of warning. "Maybe it is stupid, Harry. But it's going to happen anyway. The only real question is, are you going to be prepared, or not?" Turning to Minerva, she indicated her notes with a gesture. "There is a trapping spell that Voldemort's used on his victims. It's so Dark I can't write it down – I can't even summarize it. But it exists, and it's the best guarantee that once we initiate a confrontation, he won't be able to run." To the rest of the Order, she said, "If you all will please excuse me, I'll be leaving now."

Tayet whirred at Hagrid, peering up at him through his beard. His heart seemed to lift, and she nuzzled his hand before flying to Hermione's shoulder.

"We shall meet again tomorrow," Minerva said, as Hermione reached for the door. "After we've all had a chance to think."

/x/

Once she was certain she wasn't being followed by anyone, Hermione ducked into an alcove and reached for the mirror. _"Severus?"_

_"Are you finished there?"_

_"Almost. There's one thing I need to do first."_

_"Don't stay so long in the library you forget to come home."_ His thoughts a gentle chuckle in her mind.

_"I won't be long."_

She took her fingertips off the mirror.

She was not going to the library.

On her shoulder, Tayet warbled her approval.

/x/

Once the last of the Order members had filed out, Minerva cleared all of the armchairs but one away from the desk. She sank into it and, transfiguring one of Dumbledore's whirling silver instruments into a tartan-covered footstool, looked up at his portrait.

"Albus," she said. "The night Miss Granger appeared in the Floo with the startling news that you were really awake, she said she'd finished the list. But last night she said she hadn't seen the last two names."

Dumbledore opened his eyes. "I should think the explanation would be obvious, Minerva."

"She's lying, Albus."

"Of course she is."

"But why?"

"Because, Minerva," he said quietly, "one of the names is hers."

The book in Dumbledore's portrait nuzzled his hand, and it seemed to sigh as he stroked its cover.


	42. Of Mirrors, Masks, and Rain

A/N: A fond and sparkly thank you to everyone on my LJ f-list for your tidings of comfort and joy, and a special thanks to TimeTurnerForSale and Luna for the usual reasons and then some.

* * *

**Of Mirrors, Masks, and Rain**

_"Because, Minerva," he said quietly, "one of the names is hers."_

The book in Dumbledore's portrait nuzzled his hand, and it seemed to sigh as he stroked its cover.

As Hermione reached for the door to the Room of Requirement, Tayet sang a soft note and drifted over to perch on a nearby suit of armor. Hermione turned to look at her, and Tayet tilted her head, folding her wings.

"You're going to wait, then?"

Tayet sang another note, which Hermione couldn't interpret.

She sighed, squared her shoulders, and walked into the Room.

There was an armchair in front of the Mirror of Erised this time, and she nodded to herself upon seeing the Room's confirmation that there was something she'd missed. She needed to see everything, this time, so she sat, tucking her robes around her.

Again herself and Severus. Again the expressionless faces. Again the single, stark kiss. And again the flash of green light – from Severus' wand, she saw this time. _His eyes… oh, gods, his eyes… steady, Granger,_ she thought sternly, forcing herself to watch as the light grew, intensified, consumed the mirror's surface.

It was replaced with a rippling veil.

_The veil?_ Not a good sign.

She drew her feet up into the chair, hugging her knees, and closed her eyes, burying her face in her robes, her mind whirling.

Unbearable… _The look on his face… Oh, gods, that's not going to reunite his soul; it's going to blow it apart… oh, gods…_

When she could finally bear to open her eyes again, she made herself watch again as he raised his wand to kill her.

The same sequence of images. The same kiss. The same look in his eyes.

And the same green flash, and then the rippling.

Again.

And again.

And again.

She stretched her legs in front of her and leaned her head back against the soft cushions of the armchair. Staring at the ceiling, she forced herself to review what she'd seen.

The look. The kiss. The Killing Curse. _Wait._

She sat up suddenly and leaned forward in the chair, staring intently at the mirror.

The images played again.

Severus raising his wand –

Hermione willed her gaze away from Severus' face and focused instead on her own.

She hadn't bothered, before now; there was no counter-spell for the Killing Curse, and never would be.

As the green light flared, obscuring her face from view, right before the rippling started, the Hermione in the Mirror smiled.

Hermione unconsciously reached for the old Head Girl badge she'd pinned inside of her robes that morning and clenched it, hard.

She stared long into the mirror, at the green flashes and the endless rippling.

And eventually when the Hermione in the mirror smiled, Hermione smiled too.

/x/

Severus sat staring at the mask on the table, looking into its eyes.

The eyes were flashing green from the graffiti on the table - Potter's crude rendering of the moment that had cost him his soul.

The moment he had promised to Dumbledore. _"Severus, please."_

The moment he had promised to Narcissa. _"Protect my son."_ For him to protect Draco that night, Draco had to trust him then.

The moment he had promised to Lily. _"Protect my child."_ For him to protect Potter at the end, Potter had to hate him now.

Severus stared long into the eyes of the mask, the green flashes, endlessly repeating.

The same moment he had never promised Hermione, the moment that brought her, curious, testing her logic, to Grimmauld Place, to be tested further – terrified, bent, annealed, shadowed…

The moment that had brought her, yielding, proud, to him.

The moment that had brought him, proud, yielding, before her.

He took off one of his gloves, setting it beside the mask, running one bare finger thoughtfully around the rim of an eye hole. _Ah, Potter, how much worse your hatred now, if you but knew._

Tayet appeared in the garden, banking in a long, sweeping curve. The shadow of her outstretched wings passed over the window.

A strange smile spread on his lips as he continued running his finger around inside the eye hole.

For every time he'd seen her eyes – Lily's eyes – staring at him with hatred. For every time his heart had beat frantically against the white-hot bands of the Compulsion, searing, constricting, until his breath was scarcely adequate to the task of speaking whatever spell was required to extricate the stupid boy from whatever mortal peril he'd blundered into this year.

For every Unforgivable he'd witnessed, performed, and pretended to glory in.

For every second he'd spent in loathsome servitude.

For every pleasure he'd remembered in pain, and for every agony he'd endured in penance.

For the trapping spell he would cast.

For the Killing Curse that would follow it.

And for...

The eyes of the Death Eater mask glowed, faded, emptied, and Severus sat, head bent in concentration, tracing the empty, glowing eye hole with a slow, deliberate finger.

Hermione found him thus.

And only his eyes moved, locking with hers from behind his fallen hair.

She was smiling, and the look of triumph in her eye brought him to his feet.

"Hermione." His voice low, rough.

She laughed, rich, full – a challenge, he thought, but perhaps not to him – and her robes rippled behind her as she came to the table. "I have it."

"The book?"

"More. I looked in the Mirror again."

His eyes asked the obvious question.

"I saw the whole thing this time."

He sat, slowly. "And?"

"It was all as before – us, together, a kiss, and then you - "

He clenched the edge of the table and looked away from the mask. "I don't need that detail, Hermione."

She exhaled deliberately.

"What," he asked.

"Fine. But I think you're going to have to see it."

His hands twitched, and he forced himself to let go of the table. Running both hands along the corner of its edge, slowly, as if measuring his own control, he focused abstractly on a knot in the wood grain.

She waited.

Finally, he nodded. "After… after that, what did you see?"

"Just before the light shadowed everything, I _smiled_."

"You… what?"

"Smiled."

He examined her closely, hands still moving on the table. "Assuming for the moment that my killing you really isn't the deepest desire of your heart… "

She interrupted him with a soft snort. "Hardly."

"… and given that you know that there is no counter curse…" his voice trailed off. She was still looking at him with an expression he knew perfectly well. _Always has to be a bloody footnote._ He stopped and raised an eyebrow of acknowledgment.

"There was also a veil."

His mouth went dry. "It's just a metaphor, Hermione."

She brushed metaphor aside with an impatient hand. "I smiled, Severus. That has to mean something."

"The mirror doesn't show truth, Hermione. You know that."

"No, of course not," she bit her lip. "But I think you should look anyway."

He looked at her for a few moments, as if memorizing something. Finally, he stood and came to sit next to her, his robes fluttering to stillness as his thoughts joined hers.

She felt him withdraw sharply before the memory was complete, and opened her eyes to find him glaring at her. _Breathe, Granger._ "I know," she told him, reaching for his hand. "It gets easier. A little," she muttered wryly. "Trust me."

He pressed her hand but removed his. "I can't touch you and watch – that."

She looked at him strangely as Tayet's shadow passed the window, but sighed. "Just watch the whole thing this time? It isn't fun for me either."

"Of course."

She recognized it for the apology it almost was, and waited.

In her mind, he saw the mirror, saw her, himself, standing, together, his cloak enfolding, then a kiss like ice in his heart, then his wand, raising - _Oh, gods_ - and his face - _Whatever can she see in - _and then hers –

"Blast!" he said abruptly.

The sound was not without hope.

She looked at him appraisingly, expectantly.

He nodded slowly. _It's _that_ smile. Damn, damn, damn…_ He felt, keenly, the awkwardness of being her former teacher. Very quietly, refusing to look at her, he said, "I recognize the smile too, Hermione." It had always accompanied a perfect essay.

As they had all been perfect, he knew that smile rather well.

She grinned.

His hands were on her back, drawing her toward him, out of her chair, into his arms, his head falling onto her shoulder, before she could speak.

Holding her tightly, fiercely, "But it doesn't show the truth."

She nodded, one hand coming up to stroke his hair as it fell into her own. "I know. But there's something else." A little awkwardly, with her other hand she drew her wand. "Does this look right to you?"

His head came up, and he looked.

Then he frowned.

Then a gleam in his eyes – starved, cunning – and Hermione was reflexively relieved that she was not its object. "No," he said, his voice as clear and certain as were he chastising Neville Longbottom.

"No," he said again, turning her face to his with a strong, gentle, possessive hand.

_Glorious._

Tayet whizzed past the window, and then back for a hovering glance.

It did not seem strange to her to see Hermione's Gryffindor robes cascading against those of a Death Eater.

She trilled, and went back to flying.

"Never thought I'd see that," said a voice from the Floo.

Severus and Hermione leaped apart, wands out, pointing at the hearth.

Minerva's Head Girl badge had come unpinned from the inside of Hermione's robes and, in the awkward silence, it clattered to the flagstone hearth. Hermione's wand did not move, but she blushed furiously.

"Oh, relax, girl, I've seen worse," said Mr. Ollivander, nodding at Severus, who nodded back, pocketing his wand. Mr. Ollivander moved to leave the fireplace but hit his head rather hard on the mantel. "Perhaps some assistance… " He glanced around the kitchen, up the chimney, and at the fireguard behind him. "Unusual protections here… " he mused as Severus muttered something under his breath and, to Hermione's astonishment, extended a hand to the old wizard.

"Thank you, yes, thank you." With Severus' assistance, Mr. Ollivander was extricated from the fireplace, eyes still darting around the kitchen but somehow taking in the entire house. With a gesture, he removed the soot from his robes.

Hermione could only stare. "You… but you disappeared."

Mr. Ollivander regarded her with a kind of benevolent insanity. "Of course I did."

"Where did you go?" she asked, reaching blindly for some semblance of reason.

His eyes widened – and whether he was mocking her or showing real surprise Hermione had no idea. "Havana, of course." Turning to Severus, he said, "Well?" His voice was mild, but his watery eyes held an intensity that was doing nothing to calm Hermione's nerves.

"Havana?" Hermione forced herself to close her mouth. "But… how did you get through the… Are you a me-…"

Severus interrupted her. "You remember Ollivander's Second Corollary, of course," he began in his best "You haven't done the reading" tone.

She glared at him.

"'The wand chooses the wizard'?" Severus continued, arching an eyebrow at her. There was something of a warning in his look.

"Or witch," she muttered, with as steady a gaze as she could muster.

Mr. Ollivander looked at her with a kind of hazy focus. "There is another," he said.

_Obviously,_ she thought, grimly, _given that there is a "Second."_ She swallowed. "Fine. What is the First Corollary, then?"

"Oh, good, good, _very_ good," Ollivander nodded, holding up one finger.

Hermione tried very hard not to scowl.

Severus tried very hard not to laugh.

"Yes, there is another… oh yes… Ollivander's First Corollary: The core chooses the wandmaker."

And with that, he left the kitchen.

Hermione shot a questioning look at Severus, who shrugged stiffly and nodded once, gesturing for her to precede him through the door.

She picked up the fallen badge and, head held high, walked through the door he held open for her.

/x/

In the garden, the butterflies had all gone away.

Tayet felt her first drop of rain.

It didn't feel like a butterfly.

She did not know what it was.

She felt another.

"Squeep," she complained, turning around and rustling her wings.

And another.

"Squeep," she said, louder.

Insistent and frequent drops hit the leaves around her, and she flew through the open window as the skies opened.

/x/

The kitchen door was closed.

"SQUERK!"

A moment later, the door burst open.

Tayet back-winged, dodging, as a strange face advanced on her slowly.

It came closer.

She dodged.

And closer.

She perched on a chair back, wings open, feathers rattling her distress.

"Squeep?" she cried, craning her neck, seeing Severus and Hermione standing in the doorway.

A strange hand reaching for her –

– and she disappeared, reappearing, her talons full of Hermione's hair and her head buried against Severus' shoulder.

Instinctively, they stood closer together, two hands joining on her back.

"You didn't touch them after she dropped them?" the strange face said, a flash of dark and light disappearing into his robes.

Tayet buried her head in Severus' hair.

They shook their heads.

"You're sure," it spoke again.

Tayet trembled.

"_I_ didn't even know they were _there_," Hermione muttered darkly, still stroking Tayet's back.

"No more did I." Severus sounded solemn.

"Good… yes… good…"

A whoosh of the Floo, and the voice was gone.

Severus and Hermione reached for each other, and in the shadows between them Tayet welcomed the darkness.

Her feathers were wet, and the darkness was warm.


	43. Of Innocence and Experience

A/N: With special gratitude to the Sisterhood of the Table: Bambu, SnarkyWench, and TimeTurnerForSale. Thanks, as always, to Luna305 for being a stalwart beta.

* * *

**Of Innocence and Experience**

_Severus and Hermione reached for each other, and in the shadows between them Tayet welcomed the darkness._

Her feathers were wet, and the darkness was warm.

For a long time after the Floo settled back to ashes, Hermione, Severus, and Tayet stood in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, unmoving.

Tayet finally peeked through Hermione's hair at the empty hearth, and, without too much hair pulling, extricated herself and perched on the windowsill to watch the rain.

"I smelled rain, that first time," Hermione smiled tiredly at Severus, reaching up as if by instinct to touch the small braid that was nearly invisible against the blackness of the rest of his hair.

"I smell rain every time, Hermione," he said, leaning in to brush her lips, again, one more time, with his own. "Every time."

"Mmm." Her eyes closed, and she gloried in his warmth, the strength of him, standing before her. She ran her arms around him, under his cloak, pulling him closer.

He gathered her robes in his hands, drawing her more deeply, losing, falling, his being a sigh, washing over them both.

Some time later, Tayet whirred unhappily at the rain, and they parted, slightly.

"Have you forgiven me, Hermione?" Severus' voice was strangely soft against her hair.

"For telling Voldemort?"

He nodded.

"Why did you do it, Severus?"

"I told you."

She smiled dryly. "And what did you leave out, when you told me?"

He smiled into her hair, but it faded quickly. "The attacks. You would have been next." _And I couldn't watch…_ He kept his thought to himself.

"Oh." She held him more tightly. "Yes, of course." Leaning her cheek against his chest, his fingers playing in her hair, she asked, "How long will it take him? Ollivander, I mean."

He brought his arms around her, her head under his chin, his eyes unfathomable. "A day, perhaps. Maybe a little longer." He rested his lips on her hair.

"How did he get through the wards?" she wondered, raising a hand to rest softly on a button.

"Dumbledore always said Ollivander was a force unto himself." Severus paused, reveling in the feel her hair against his cheek. One strand tickled the corner of his eye. "I don't think even Dumbledore fully understood him."

"He's not in the Order, then."

"No. Nor is he a Death Eater. He has long gone out of his way to maintain a kind of neutrality. He seems to be beyond it all, somehow."

Hermione nodded. "So the wards don't apply to him?"

"The core chooses the wandmaker."

She frowned slightly. "That doesn't make sense."

"No," he agreed. "But it appears to be how it works."

Hermione smiled wistfully at Severus and tipped the Head Girl badge onto the table, where it spun, traveled, and came to rest leaning against the Death Eater mask.

His eyes followed it, then tipped her chin up to meet her eyes, questioning.

"Minerva's." A rueful laugh. Her hand came back to his chest.

His heart tightened. "Hermione," he breathed, but she put her finger on his lips.

"Shhh. It doesn't really matter right now."

But he brought his gloved hand up to hers and folded her finger down, closing her fist in his own. Looking at her seriously, he said, "It does."

With his bare hand, he traced the scarlet piping on her robes.

She watched the play of thoughts on his face, catching her breath as his fingers brushed her neck, seeing his eyes trailing along the line where the edge of her robes met her skin, seeing his brow furrow, and then his eyes, back to hers…

"Hermione, the chances of my ever being near that Mirror are slim," he began slowly. "And given what you saw, and Ollivander's appearance, it is likely that, right now, my vision would be nearly identical to yours." He gathered her close, fingers still playing with the edge of her robes.

She looked up at him, but he avoided her gaze.

He said nothing for a very long time. Finally, he spoke. "But I can imagine a very different vision."

She nodded, listening to his heartbeat.

The softest tone. "I had no wish to find my future only to steal yours."

"You didn't."

But he had. "Don't lie to yourself, Hermione. Or to me."

"It doesn't matter right now, does it?"

Unbidden, they both looked at the Floo.

"Ollivander knows," Hermione began. "Voldemort. And Dumbledore."

He nodded.

She sighed. Even if the new wands worked the way she thought they might – a fairly big question; she'd need to do some research, and even then, the timing would be tricky, never mind the unspeakable line they'd have to cross to get it to – well – and even if Harry was strong enough to defeat Voldemort, and even if they all survived the more mundane reality of whatever Death Eaters would be present, at the end – it was only a matter of time before everyone learned…

"Severus – what about Dumbledore?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"The Secret. Does it hold? Is Ollivander that… " she sought the right word. "That different?" Her eyes grew wider. "And if it doesn't – Voldemort – the Dementors – "

"Ollivander is the exception to many rules. The Secret still holds, Hermione."

"Are you sure?" She looked at him.

"Quite sure."

She twisted her lips skeptically.

His own twitched in response. "What? No faith?"

She looked at him darkly. "With the Dementors breeding?"

Keeping one arm around her shoulders, covering her with his cloak, he chuckled. "As you are unlikely to believe me without proof, come."

And he led her out into the rain.

Tayet clicked her beak disapprovingly as Severus and Hermione went out into the garden, into the rain. The new sound she made startled her, and she went slightly cross-eyed trying to examine it.

Experimentally, she tried it again. Soon, she was clicking happily, the rain forgotten.

For now.

/x/

Severus held his cloak over Hermione's head and gestured at the wall. "The mist. That's not the weather. You can't have normal mist in rain."

She blinked as a sudden wind gust blew her face full of raindrops. The mist stopped in a hard edge at the wall, cut off as though with a knife.

"Proof lies in the impossible. The Secret holds, Hermione." He looked up at the clouds.

She nodded and made to head back inside, but Severus' arm tightened around her and she turned back to him. "What?"

"The rain," he breathed, closing his eyes, leaning his head back, letting the water fall on his face.

She watched as the raindrops clung to his eyelashes, melded, and ran down his face.

The rain fell heavier, and something about the way he held his head, the arch of his neck as he reached, reminded her of -

Her eyes widened in understanding. "That's it, isn't it," she said softly, reaching her hand up to trace a trailing raindrop as it ran from his eyes.

He swallowed and said nothing, eyes still closed, facing the rain.

"Oh, Severus," she said. "That's it."

He inhaled and raised his head, blinking, his eyelashes glittering with unshed raindrops, his eyes burning.

"The rain," she said again.

And he looked at her then, and her eyes were ageless.

"The line," she said, leaving the relatively dry space under his cloak to stand before him.

The rain settled onto her hair, sparkling. His fingers again raised to her robes, tracing the Gryffindor piping with his leather-encased hand.

"It's only fabric, Severus," she said, although whether she meant her robes or his own she could not have said. She tilted her chin up. A challenge.

"It's not, Hermione," he said, his hand hesitating, falling to his side. "It's a decision. These robes were a decision I made a long time ago. One I've made every day since. A decision."

"These too, Severus. Only mine was made for me, by a hat."

He smoothed the pooling raindrops over her heart with his bare hand, breaking the surface tension, soaking the cloth around the embroidered Gryffindor emblem. "These remind me."

She took one careful step closer to him.

"Remind you of what, Severus? Of me? As your student?" She shook her head. "Really - I don't think so."

"No. And not of Lily," he said, watching her, a hint of wariness in his eyes.

"No. If I thought that, would I be here?" She laughed shakily. "But perhaps they remind you of something that simple."

"I can never go back, Hermione. I can't be that again."

"Of course not. But to know that that simplicity exists, sometimes, for a time…"

He closed his eyes and drew her to him. "You are both not that and more than that," he said finally. "More than an illusion, more than a way to forget." The rain plastered his hair to his face, and she smoothed an errant strand back from his cheek. "And you are far from simple."

"But you're drawn to it, just the same."

He nodded. "Yes."

She rested her palms on his face, and kissed him.

He tasted the rain, and a breath escaped his lips.

It was almost a sigh.

And through her own, she drew it in.

"And you?" he asked softly, a moment later. "This - " he raised a gloved finger to her cheek.

At the feel of the leather, she inhaled – sharp, shallow.

"What is it about this, Hermione," his voice dropping, a low undertone of something dangerous.

"It's the same line, Severus," she whispered, hands not leaving his face as his finger traced her eyes. "From the other side."

"And you find yourself drawn to it - " An insistent finger, tracing, hard, leather, against her neck.

"To you - " she whispered

"Because… ?" his hand opening, his palm against her neck.

She drew another shallow breath at the slight pressure. "Probably because you didn't kill me when you had the chance."

His eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "Perhaps I should have?"

She looked at him then, and laughed. "Bastard."

Under the lowering clouds, with the Dementors' mist cut off in a knife edge around them, his laughter joined hers. Clasping her around the waist, he picked her up, their sodden robes tightening around them as he spun in the rain, stopping, setting her down, their robes twisted together.

He held her, for a time, strong, on the knife edge of the real, and was, for a time, washed clean.

/x/

Mrs. Black looked at Phineas Nigellus. "Do you hear anything?"

He shook his head, concentrating. Finally, he sighed. "I do not." He sounded rather petulant.

"Did they cast it then?"

They looked at each other, eyes widening in disbelief.

"Impossible," Phineas Nigellus snorted.

Mrs. Black nodded. "Unthinkable. Are they outside, then?"

"Probably. More fools them, in the rain."

Mrs. Black tilted her chin, considering. "Perhaps not so foolish."

He glanced at her, startled, then his expression tinged with a two-dimensional shading that might have meant regret, or, perhaps, just memory. "Perhaps not."

/x/

It might have been a moment later, or a lifetime. Standing in the center of a rain-washed wind, Hermione and Severus looked at each other, blinking. A single, stark kiss, in the rising wind, then –

"Inside," he growled, his voice heavy with promise, with a threat.

The back door slammed open, shut, and Tayet winked out.

Drawing his wand, he backed Hermione to the table. Hungry, his hands to the table, firmly, on the edge, on either side, wand held clenched in his gloved hand.

"Hermione," he murmured, leaning over her, touching her only with his voice, his breath. He leaned his mouth to the collar of her robes and breathed, "These have to go." He raised his wand. "Do you trust me, Hermione?"

The corners of her eyes crinkled and her eyes gleamed. "When you look like that?"

His eyes gleamed too. With amusement – and with something much, much darker. He flicked his wand and lowered his lips to her collarbone.

"Severus," Hermione breathed, scarcely noticing as the damp chill of her robes disappeared. She felt his warmth through the air, and reached for a button.

Feeling her fingers working, slowly, deliberately, he looked up at her.

He wanted to touch what he saw in her eyes.

It was almost a compulsion.

Almost.

A bolt of fire into his skin as her fingertips reached his chest, then cool – her hand was gone – no – it was on his neck, curling into the open collar of his robes, drawing him closer –

- and his hand flew to her wrist, catching her, drawing her -

- and her head bowed backwards, her hair falling, sweeping, catching -

- and he leaned into -

Her eyes a whisper from his own as he lifted her to the tabletop.

She hissed as she felt his hands, one hard, leather, one bare, cool, warm, smoothing her sides, gripping her hips, his body leaning over hers -

His heart pounding in his ears.

Almost a compulsion.

Almost, but not quite.

Just desire.

And something more.

Nothing you could touch. Nothing you could see.

If it had a scent, for him, it was rain.

If it had a sound, for her, it was wind.

It wasn't a place, but it was.

It wasn't time, but it was.

/x/

In the hallway, Mrs. Black and Phineas Nigellus exchanged a weary look.

Tayet sat on the floor before the portraits and tilted her head to look at them. After a moment, she closed her eyes, opened her beak, and sang.

Her song wasn't a place, and it wasn't time.

It was chaos, and it was truth.

Furrowing his brow to look at her, Phineas Nigellus listened. Then, with a courtly bow, he offered his hand to Mrs. Black. "May I have the honor of this dance?"

With a deep curtsey, she accepted.


	44. Yes

A/N: Luna has fallen into a pit but will emerge soon; pray, don't blame her for my syntax. My courtliest bow to TimeTurnerForSale, in gratitude for the cross-country pas de deux of writing. May the stars align soon.

* * *

**Yes**

_Furrowing his brow to look at her, Phineas Nigellus listened. Then, with a courtly bow, he offered his hand to Mrs. Black. "May I have the honor of this dance?"_

With a deep curtsey, she accepted.

/x/

The phoenix song surrounded them as the rain fell and the clouds lowered to an early dusk.

Hand murmuring on her skin, his voice in her hair, speaking through skin, his breath on her throat her head back, resting softly, cushioned, protected in a black leather glove. His hand to her face, roughly smoothing her hair aside, reaching for her, lips brushing, a silent, serene agony of more.

_"Do you want me, Hermione?"_

"Yes."

"Here, like this."

"Yes."

Hands, under her shoulders, around her back, guiding, easing her fall…

_"I will have you."_

"Yes…"

"Now."

"Yes…"

"Tonight."

"Yes…"

"Tomorrow…"

"… yes."

…and she, back, and he, over her, and his hands smoothing down and she in boneless strength reaching for him…

_Shhh… lie still. You are mine._

"Yes."

"Now."

"Yes."

"Tomorrow…"

"… yes."

Skin, soft, his hand, strong, soft, her face, leaning, into his palm, her cheek, her eyelashes brushing a fingertip…

…and the other, a dark trail, firm, insistent, marking, claiming, run down from shoulder to hip, moving, his thumb…

_"… oh."_

"Yes, Hermione."

"Oh, gods…"

"Yes."

Then…

_"Severus."_

Her face, sudden, heavy, into his hand…

…and his hand, holding, refusing, insistent, firm, not allowing…

_"Now, Hermione?"_

"Yes…"

"Tell me."

"I want you."

"And?"

"… I want everything."

"Good. Now?"

"Now."

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

She reached for him then, but he caught her hands and pinned them to the table, moving them over her head, his eyes a dark fire, watching, waiting.

_"Damn it, Severus."_ Her eyes flashed at him as she bit her lip, hard.

He chuckled, grasping her wrists with one hand. Bending to kiss the mark on her heart as his free hand swept sudden, swift, down -

His hair brushed her neck and she arched toward his hand, toward him, toward -

_"Yes."_

And their worlds entwined, plunging into a darkness softly shimmering with the promise of light.

/x/

Some time later, Tayet stopped singing. She clicked her beak once, and looked calmly at the portraits.

Their dance ended with another bow, another curtsey.

/x/

Falling back into her mind, Hermione reached for Severus, and her elbow nudged Minerva's Head Girl badge.

It had nicked a tear into the Death Eater mask. Hermione rolled to her side and traced it with her finger.

Raising on one elbow behind her, his head coming to rest between her shoulder and neck, Severus' finger joined hers.

For a while they said nothing, tracing, watching.

"Do you think..." she began, softly, still watching the flashes from beneath the mask glowing through the empty eye holes.

"Much of the time, in fact." A tinge of regret joining the dryness in his voice.

"Do you think it will work?"

He extended a finger and gently pushed the mask off of the carving. Both mask and badge fell to the floor.

She could not see the green light reflecting in his eyes.

She did not need to.

"There's still the Indemnity, Hermione."

She closed her eyes and curled back against him. "I know. And Voldemort."

"And - " he stopped himself, and just held her.

"Harry," she finished for him, and sighed.

/x/

A sober Harry and Ron left Hagrid and Grawp's enormous stone hut that evening, seeming both older and younger than they had that morning.

Ron ran his hands through his hair and looked out over the tree tops of the Forbidden forest. Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and concentrated on kicking a stone down the lane. They said nothing until they reached the gates, where Tonks and Lupin were waiting for them.

"All right, Harry?" Tonks said quietly as they approached.

Harry gave the stone a final kick and nodded, waiting for Lupin to undo the complex set of Charms and chains that kept the castle gates secure.

Ron looked at Tonks and exhaled. His eyes were rather larger than usual, and her mouth twisted sympathetically. She jerked her head toward the stone hut they had just left and looked a question at him.

"He's all right. Can't seem to get Grawp to understand about Death Eaters, or Horcruxes, or any of it. And he's still trying." Ron looked half angry, half embarrassed. "Bit frustrating, really."

Tonks nodded. "Yeah, I imagine."

Lupin opened the gate and, as they exited, turned around to re-set the protections. Carefully not looking at Harry, he said, "Tonks, why don't you and Ron go a little ahead. We can walk some way before we Apparate, I think?"

Tonks looked at him sharply, but nodded. "Not too far. We've got to get Harry back inside the…" She clamped her mouth shut and started over. "Back to the Burrow." She and Ron turned and walked a few paces away.

When she glanced back and saw that Harry and Lupin had not moved, she put her arm out, and she and Ron stopped walking. "I can't get farther away than this and guard him properly," she explained.

"Right," Ron said, looking uncomfortable, and trying to appear not to. He cleared his throat. "So." He tried to think of something to say and couldn't.

Tonks smiled. "I think he just wants a word. Shouldn't take long." She stood, waiting patiently, eyes sweeping the area around them for any sign of anything that might be amiss. "You might as well learn what to look for," she said after a moment, and started listing the various signs and clues, signals to go on greater alert when on duty. Moody, of course, had elevated Auror alertness to a pathology, but it was second nature to her, to Kingsley, and to most of the Order, whom they'd trained.

"D'you know who had the most trouble learning this?" Tonks said, as she felt Ron's eyes start to do a sweep of the area.

"Who?" he asked, keeping his eyes moving as she'd told him to.

"Dumbledore. Moody told me. He kept wanting to stop and discuss things." Tonks shook her head, a small, painful smile crossing her face. "He had a theory about everything."

Ron laughed, but didn't take his eyes off of their surroundings.

"Not bad, Ron," Tonks said approvingly.

"Harry," Lupin said quietly.

"Yeah," Harry said.

"There is always hope."

Harry looked at Lupin then, and only an act of will kept Lupin from having to look away. Harry's eyes hit his heart every time, especially when, as now, they were filled with angry fear. He had seen that look on Lily's face, after they'd learned of the prophecy. The look had disappeared from her face later, he remembered, even before Harry was born, to be replaced by something determined, yet somehow… secure. James had chalked it up to her advancing pregnancy, but Lupin had never been sure. It had all seemed so sudden…

He shook his head. He would have given much to see a similar determination in Harry's eyes, just then, and he had to try. He was the only one left.

"What is it, Harry?"

Harry looked back at the hut, at the castle. "Hermione," he said.

That wasn't it, not really, and, understanding, Lupin waited silently.

"I barely understood what she was on about, with the Arithmancy. I'm used to that," he said, a brief eye roll punctuating his memories of Hermione's many explanations of lessons and assignments. "But this was different. It was like – it was like hearing someone else talking, and…" his voice trailed off, and he looked away sharply, blinking.

Lupin considered his words, and nodded compassionately. "She's doing this for you, Harry."

"I – I know. I just wish I understood."

"Harry, _I_ only understood part of it," Lupin began quietly. "But what I did understand was executed flawlessly. Bill was convinced – and I trust that. His NEWT Arithmancy score was the highest in about two centuries. And Minerva – did you know she used to teach Arithmancy?"

Harry shook his head.

"She wouldn't have asked Hermione to present her research if she didn't believe in it, Harry."

Harry nodded, but said nothing.

"She did find the workaround for the first two."

"I know. It's just…"

_We're getting to it,_ Lupin thought.

"It's supposed to be me," Harry said, his voice low.

Lupin was startled to hear how deep his voice had gotten, and he looked at him for a moment. "It will be, Harry," he said. "Have no doubt there. But you won't be alone."

"I don't know what to do. Shouldn't I be… training, or… or something?"

"Harry, part of the beauty of Hermione's work – and it is beautiful, in a way that passes understanding – is that she's been able to advance the timeline. Fewer people will die because of her work, Harry, even if - "

"But I'm not ready!" Harry's eyes blazed.

"For a traditional duel, no, Harry, you're not," Lupin agreed. He looked older, sadder, and for a moment Tonks' eyes paused in their sweep. He nodded at her slightly, and she resumed her vigilant attention.

"Then how can I possibly defeat him?"

"Harry, none of us could survive a duel with Voldemort. Only Dumbledore. And, perhaps - " _No. I won't say his name. Not to Harry._ "- perhaps one other."

Harry's eyes flew to Lupin's face, piercing, but he said nothing.

Lupin chose to ignore his gaze. "Part of the beauty of Hermione's solution is that you won't have to."

"Who's going to take him out, then? While he's…" Harry gestured to his scar.

"If the battle is within, Harry – in your head, your heart – I rather suspect any of us could take him at that moment." Lupin paused. "You are exceptional, Harry. Your heart, your character, your bravery – those are truly exceptional."

Harry looked at him strangely. "You sound a little bit like Dumbledore."

Lupin's hand raised, and fell. He glanced away. "He was my teacher too."

"So. I have a heart." Harry stood taller. "Not much of a duelist, though." A fleeting, sheepish look.

"No one expects you to be. If Hermione is right – and there's every reason to believe she is – then Voldemort will be fully engaged. His body will be vulnerable."

"So, no point in trying to cram in last minute Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, then, is there?"

The look of determination was growing in Harry's eyes, but Lupin wasn't quite sure why. He shook his head.

Harry nodded, once, firmly. "Then let's get back."

Lupin looked at him questioningly as they moved to rejoin Tonks and Ron.

"I need to talk to Ginny." For the first time in hours, Harry smiled.

It wasn't a nice smile, but it was, Lupin decided, nicely determined.

And it was very, very important.


	45. Method and Madness

A/N: Warning: Hermione's researching again; fasten your seatbelts. In the event of confusion, a headmaster's portrait will be summoned to provide explanation. Eventually. Luna is still in absentia; thanks to Anastasia, as always.

* * *

**Method and Madness**

_It wasn't a nice smile, but it was, Lupin decided, nicely determined._

And it was very, very important.

/x/

Once again, they sat in the library.

Once again, Hermione was surrounded by books, parchments, and quills.

Once again, Severus sat by the fire, swirling his brandy in a heavy snifter. Watching her.

Every few minutes, she would reach for the small, black leather-bound book she had taken from the Potions classroom. Her eyes would take in a passage, her face dispassionate save for the intensity in her eyes, and she would bend again to three other sources, cross-checking, taking notes without looking at her parchment.

He knew without needing to see it that despite her apparent inattention to her handwriting it would be perfectly smooth, perfectly even. He had tried for six years to shake her concentration, disrupt her focus, intimidate her hands into trembling, into tipping too much or too little of an herb or powder into her cauldron.

He had done this to all his students. Only Bill Weasley had resisted his efforts as easily.

Severus watched as a stray lock of Hermione's hair seemed to float as she turned her head toward one of the larger tomes before her. It would tangle, shortly, on the end of her quill.

Without thinking, he found himself next to her, smoothing it back, twisting it gently into the rest of the disarrayed knot at the base of her neck.

She glanced up at him, smiled vaguely, and was at once immersed in her work.

Severus' finger lingered over the skin on the back of her neck, and he went back to sit his vigil by the fire.

/x/

"Ginny," Harry said quietly as they were doing the dinner dishes. "Can you get away for a few, when we're done?"

Ginny nodded without looking up from the dishes. Almost without moving her lips she whispered a single word: "Broomshed."

Harry nodded once, and they bent again to their task.

Only Lupin witnessed their exchange, and only because he'd been watching for it. Ron was explaining what Tonks had taught him to his parents, who were listening with the same tired attention they had always paid to whichever child had a new excitement to share.

Arthur looked at his son and was struck by the memory of him sitting in his high chair on the day he had discovered both gravity and his own magic. Ron had spent a happy hour tossing his spoon to the floor, delighting with laughter, kicking his feet with joy, shouting "Foon! Foon!" as the spoon clattered to yet another corner of the kitchen, only to fly back into his fat little baby hand. "Foon!"

"… and she said Dumbledore had a theory about everything," Ron concluded, waving his spoon to emphasize the last word.

Arthur had to close his eyes to get them to focus properly on the young man before him. In his mind, he heard an echo of "Foon!" before the memory faded.

/x/

"Severus, I can't make this bit out." Hermione was frowning at the small black book. "Did you have to write over _every_ page?"

Severus joined her at the table and reached for the book. After a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, and he held the book closer to his eyes.

Hermione sighed and stretched in her chair, watching him, watching as his fingers caressed the faded embossed gilt on the cover. _Unthinkable Unguents and Forbidden Formulae: What Hogwarts Won't Teach You._ She rolled her neck on her shoulders. _Honestly. To keep a book like that in a classroom._

She watched as Severus scowled at his own handwriting, and a small laugh escaped her lips. "Really, Severus. To die because of your many psychological buttons would be one thing, but… because you can't decipher your own handwriting?"

He looked up at her sharply then – she saw the instinctive irritation flare in his eyes, only to see it soften and disappear. "I was… " he began, sounding slightly embarrassed, "… rather _avid_ about this passage."

She brushed the sweep of his hair off his forehead and held it out of his face for a moment.

The look of understanding in her eyes was almost more than he could bear. "Books are what I had, Hermione," he said, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

_Oh, gods… _she thought to herself. _Oh, gods. It can't be._ Careful to keep her expression mild, she wondered wildly how many more sudden insights into this enigmatic man she would have before… _Easy, Granger._

She would never tell anyone that, on some level, Severus Snape was _shy._ But her mind supplied the list of people who probably knew anyway.

Crooking his finger as a placeholder, he closed the book for a moment and looked at her. "You can hide what you are thinking, Hermione. But you cannot hide that you are. What is it?" He reached for her hand, and the simplicity of the gesture brought a lump to her throat.

"Just… just that… " She smiled softly, almost apologetically, and finished, "… I can't help wishing…"

He looked at her for a long moment, and, reaching for her quill, placed it in the book to mark the page. Setting the book down, he took her other hand as well, turning his chair slightly. "And what is it you wish for?"

His voice surrounded her, a gentle promise that she reached for even as it eluded her grasp.

She wasn't sure she could speak – she had never seen his eyes so calm, so open. And suddenly, she was the shy one.

Taking both of her hands in one of his own, he traced her hairline with the side of his hand. "Tell me, Hermione, and if it is in my power…"

"- which is not inconsiderable," she said, scarcely knowing her words.

"… which is not inconsiderable," he agreed seriously, "nor to be taken lightly, for good or ill – it is yours."

She looked at him, trying to keep her eyes from reflecting the undercurrent of growing despair as time slipped away from them.

"Hermione, you cannot hide from me what I myself am feeling, most keenly," he said, tracing down her jaw to lift her chin. "Tell me."

"I wish I could see what you might imagine, if you could," she said, simply, trusting him to know what she meant.

"In the Mirror?" He looked to her for confirmation.

"Yes," she said, and, with that word, an echo of what had earlier passed between them.

Their hands tightened briefly in shared response to the memory.

He smiled sadly. "That, Hermione. Just now, just that."

Their eyes closed, and their lips brushed.

Softly.

There was no fear, no urgency, nor any sense of anything, really.

Just a small yes, the sort of small yes of which longer lives may be built, and sometimes are.

/x/

"Ginny?" Harry looked up as the door to the broomshed opened. Without a moon, he could not see as much as a silhouette.

"It's me, Harry." Ginny's voice in the darkness brought a lightness to Harry's shoulders. "Here… I've brought you a butterbeer."

"Thanks, Gin," Harry smiled nervously in the darkness.

"I – I can't find your hand. Where are you?"

There was a certain amount of brushing of fingers and arms until Ginny finally laughed softly and took Harry's arm in her hands and followed it down to his hand, the bottle of butterbeer cool against his skin.

He opened it, but did not hear a second bottle opening.

They spoke at the same time -

"Do you have - "

"Can I have a sip?"

- and laughed, trying to be quiet.

"Here," Harry said, as he pressed the bottle into Ginny's open hand.

"Thanks," she said. His hand did not leave the bottle. "Harry - "

"Ginny," he said seriously. "I was stupid."

He felt her shrug. "A little. But you thought it was right." She took her hand away and put it in her pocket.

Harry ran his hand through his hair and looked up into the darkness, hoping there were no spiders heading for his face.

"That's the problem," he admitted finally.

"Yes, it is, Harry," Ginny agreed. There was no accusation in her tone, but neither did Harry hear anything softer.

"I always think I'm right, and then…" He swallowed, remembering Sirius. "Gin – I – I'm not ready. I don't have time to be wrong any more."

"Harry," she began.

"But I don't know what to do. And it's coming, Ginny. It's coming, soon."

"Ron told me," she said quietly.

"Gin, I – I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Harry."

There was something in her tone that he didn't like. He didn't know what it was.

"Look, Harry, I told you once before. I'm the only other person who's been possessed by Voldemort. You should have talked to me before now."

He nodded, then forgot she couldn't see him. "Yeah. Yeah, I should have. I just wanted something…"

"Something separate?"

"From all that? Yeah." He was looking up again. Still no spiders.

"Harry, that's not fair. I didn't say anything, but it really isn't. And now it seems as though you're reaching because you're scared."

Harry didn't move.

"I'm sorry you're scared, Harry. But we all are. Not just you."

"I – I know, Gin."

She was quiet for a moment. "Maybe you do. I don't know. But I know you can't shove people into frames like portraits. We all have feelings too, Harry."

He ran his thumb around the top of the bottle and said nothing.

"And you hurt mine. 'I was stupid' is a pretty good apology, I guess, if I were Ron." Her tone was deepening, and he didn't need to see her to know that her eyes were blazing. "I'm not Ron. You're going to have to do better than that, Harry Potter. Whether you die tomorrow or outlive us all, you're going to have to do better than that."

He heard the door creak open.

"Enjoy the butterbeer, Harry."

He stood with his mouth slightly open as she left.

A moment later, the door creaked again. "Harry?"

His mouth was dry, the butterbeer somehow, absurdly forgotten.

She kissed him fiercely and left again.

He didn't feel the spider land in his hair.

/x/

Severus touched Hermione's cheek, his eyes lingering on hers for a moment, then he picked up his book again.

For nearly an hour there was no sound except the fire and the scratching of Hermione's quill as she cross-referenced her notes.

Eventually she put down her quill and looked up. She was startled to see Severus' eyes closed and his hands resting in his lap, his finger once again tucked in to mark the page.

"I am awake," he said softly. "Just trying to remember."

"Anything?"

"I can read what I wrote, most of it, but it doesn't make any sense." He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Let me," she said, taking the book from him.

He took a quill and began writing.

_Begin again at the beginning,_ she thought, turning back to the beginning of the chapter.

"Archimedes' Anomalies," she read, half aloud. "Illegal inversions and their alchemical analogies." She read through the sections preceding the illegible page, pausing occasionally to refine her notes.

"Severus, this very page, the one we can't read… it's why you wanted me to bring this book, isn't it?" She didn't look up from her work.

"Of course."

"Did you have any particular reasoning that identified this as a valuable source for us, now?" Her quill paused on the page and her eyes moved to his.

"No."

She waited, and he said nothing.

"Instinct, then?" she said, eyebrows arching.

"Indeed."

She looked at him blankly for a moment. "Instinct?"

He looked at her firmly. "Yes."

Her eyes darkened with a kind of amusement. "You."

"Yes."

"Right," she said. As she bent to the parchment, the corner of her mouth twitched.

Severus' robes rustled as he shifted irritably in his chair. "You think me incapable of approaching a problem with instinct?"

She pursed her lips, amused, and he rustled again.

She put the quill down and laughed quietly, resting her head in her hands.

He bristled, and she laughed harder. "Severus, if you had feathers…"

"Hermione!"

"I'm sorry, but you so remind me of…"

He glared at her, and she collapsed helplessly in her chair.

He made a move as if to rise, but her hand came out weakly and she waved him to sit. "Please, Severus. Forgive me. For so long I've tried to model my methods after yours, I'm afraid I didn't see the chaos for the order." Growing serious, she said, "But it's how you've stayed alive, isn't it. Recognizing patterns as they've shifted."

He nodded. "Preferably before the shift happens."

"Ideally, yes."

She stared at the book some more. "I'm not getting anywhere with this. I can't make out what the book said originally under what you've written."

He passed his transcription to her. "This is what I wrote on the page."

She compared the two pages and began the painstaking reconstruction of the buried text, visually eliminating the shape of Severus' handwriting and sifting through certainty and likelihood regarding the shape of the letters underneath.

"I'm getting 'disallowed' and 'undefined' – and, down here, 'sun eclipsing… moon'" – she frowned – "That can't be right - and, over here 'quicksilver,' and, perhaps, 'uphill' – but nothing coherent; no real explanation nor theory."

"None of that makes any sense."

"Yes, so you wrote, at length," she frowned at his transcription of his own handwriting. "At least your handwriting has improved. Somewhat."

He scowled.

After an hour of laborious collating, she was finished. She rubbed her eyes and looked up to find Severus holding a mug of steaming tea in front of her.

He stood behind her and looked at her notes over her shoulder.

"Infinite? No. Not quite," he read to himself. "There is no answer."

Another line. "Undefined."

Another. "Illegal."

He kept reading. "Life sentence in Azkaban." His eyebrow shot up as, somewhere within the deep recesses of his memory, something clicked.

"No answer," he mused.

Picking up his train of thought, Hermione read aloud from the book. "Some formulae cannot be resolved and thus are forbidden to initiate. These formulae depend on variables that are simultaneously problematic, indefinable, absent, and emplaced."

"Sounds like Dumbledore," he muttered.

"As no resolution can be found for such formulae, and to work them backwards results in negations to the fundamental fabric of the real, workings predicated on their existence were, at one time, punishable by life sentences in Azkaban."

She flipped to the front of the book but found no copyright date. "Severus, how old is this book?"

"It was my grandfather's."

"That's a relief." She flipped back to the page in question and continued reading, consulting her reconstruction. "'In perhaps the most infamous case of an illegal inversion, the wizard Leonardo Fibonacci (1175? - ? ), a well-known cultivator of sunflowers, correctly predicted the only known occurrence of the sun eclipsing the moon.'" She glanced up. "That didn't really happen?"

Severus shrugged slightly.

She swallowed hard, but continued reading. "'At the time his workings were thought to have caused the event, but later developments in rational thought - '"

She snorted and leaned her head in her hand. "Rational," she scoffed.

Severus' eyes were glittering. "Keep reading."

Shooting him a questioning look, she continued, although she could not keep the scorn out of her voice. "'More recently…' Oh, honestly."

A slow hand came to her shoulder.

"'More recently, William Thompson (1824? - ?) was charged with alchemical analogy and illegal inversion for his Transfigurative workings in an attempt to prove that, under certain controlled circumstances, when water runs uphill it turns to quicksilver. The allegations were never proven and charges were later dropped, although Thompson was required to pay a severe fine for damage to the polar ice caps. Thompson's alleged crimes resulted in the founding of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.'" She sighed. "Severus, these people were lunatics. None of this makes any sense."

But Severus' eyes were alive with the glimmer of an idea so absolute, so wrong, so perfect, that he knew he was right.

Turning toward the archway, he called, "Phineas!"

Dimly Hermione heard Phineas Nigellus' voice echo in the hall.

"We need to speak to Dumbledore."

* * *

Note on sources: Leonardo Fibonacci and William Thompson are actual historical personages. The Fibonacci series is: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13… &c. This sequence can be found in the spirals at the center of a sunflower. William Thompson (Lord Kelvin) developed the Kelvin temperature scale, thus defining absolute zero.


	46. Unthinkable

A/N: My gratitude to Luna for the long-distance beta; to Anastasia, as always, for inspiring courage; to a post-structuralist named Lyotard for ruining several weeks of my life in grad school; and to Ari!Mom, because of whom I survived Ophelia with my love for math intact.

* * *

**Unthinkable**

_But Severus' eyes were alive with the glimmer of an idea so absolute, so wrong, so perfect, that he knew he was right. _

Turning toward the archway, he called, "Phineas!"

Dimly Hermione heard Phineas Nigellus' voice echo in the hall.

"We need to speak to Dumbledore."

-------------------------

"Severus, what is it?" Hermione asked, rising to join him as he strode toward the hall.

"It's unthinkable, Hermione," he said, a delighted and undeniably malicious grin spreading on his face.

This was so unlike any answer she had expected that she stopped short for a moment before increasing her pace.

He swirled to a stop in front of Mrs. Black's portrait, where the witch was uncharacteristically silent, her expression one of listening for something that wasn't really a sound.

"He's coming," she said, and left her frame.

Dumbledore appeared a moment later, without Phineas Nigellus. "Ah, Severus. Miss Granger. Good evening," he said pleasantly, as though they'd just encountered each other unexpectedly whilst on an evening stroll.

"Headmaster," Severus inclined his head, as Hermione said, "Good evening, sir."

"The good Phineas Nigellus has stayed at Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued calmly, "lest my presence be required there."

From this they understood that Professor McGonagall was not the only Order member currently at the castle, and they nodded.

Dumbledore turned to Severus expectantly.

"Headmaster," Severus began, his eyes very nearly sparkling, "I have missed our debates on the merits of order and chaos."

Dumbledore nodded, the quality of his attention changing as he seemed to notice the light in Severus' eyes. "As have I, Severus; as have I."

"If we could perhaps continue our discussion of conditionals versus imperatives, I believe it might prove to be most… useful."

Hermione blinked. _Grammar? What has grammar to do with anything?_

But Dumbledore smiled as if nothing would please him more, and he settled his robes around himself comfortably. "The conditional is a tense; the imperative, a mood. That is where we were, I believe?"

"Indeed."

Hermione gaped as the kitchen door swung open and two chairs appeared in the hallway.

Severus gestured for her to sit, but did not take his eyes off of the portrait. "I believe, sir, that I have recently begun to see the merits of your position regarding the permeability of that distinction, and would like to test my thinking."

"Of course, Severus. You refer to my contention that the line between 'must' and 'should' is entirely illusory, I believe?"

Severus nodded.

Hermione could have sworn that the headmaster was beginning to beam. _Paint _cannot_ beam. It just can't… _She rubbed her hand over her face. Of course it could. It was doing just that, right in front of her.

"Sir, if one were to propose the inverse of your argument – that the distinction between 'must not' and 'should not' not only exists, but is, in fact, impermeable - would you agree?"

Dumbledore nodded, slowly, his eyes alight with speculative interest.

"And if one were to further define that inverse argument by placing it within context – which is, of course, always changing – would it – would it then be accurate, Albus," Severus leaned closer to the portrait in his chair, his excitement palpable. "Would it then be accurate to say that the distinction between 'must not' and 'should not' exists, and is definite, but that at any given moment the distinction is so subjective that it is nearly useless?"

Dumbledore looked so very pleased with this baffling question that Hermione could have sworn that Severus' asking that specific question was what the former headmaster had been seeing in the Mirror of Erised for years.

Severus leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, his eyes proud.

Dumbledore continued to beam at him.

And Hermione was completely confused, and beyond irritated by both of them. "Excuse me," she said, in as respectful a tone as she could muster, "but would one of you please explain what all that was about?"

Dumbledore gestured for Severus to do the honors.

Severus turned his head toward Hermione with a smile that was simultaneously gentle and predatory. "It means, Hermione, that 'taboo' - or 'thou shalt not' - however absolute, is merely a social construct, subject to change depending on context."

He waited for a moment, and, when she did not reply, he continued, "It means that we're going to divide by zero."

She blinked.

Dumbledore laughed. "Well done, Severus, well done indeed."

Severus glanced at him, pleased, but turned his gaze almost immediately back to Hermione.

She blinked again.

Dumbledore watched them for a moment, a delighted smile on his face, then said, "As you doubtless have much explaining to do, Severus, I believe I will beg my leave of you both and return to Hogwarts. Good evening, Miss Granger." He nodded at both of them, and the frame was empty.

Hermione was blinking rapidly. "We're going to… what?"

"Really, Miss Granger," Severus began, in a tone so light she was alarmed.

Teasing? _Him?_ "_Miss Granger?_" Hermione said, astonished.

Whatever she was going to say next was interrupted by his laugh. "Please – forgive me, Hermione, but it is so rare to see you flummoxed that you will forgive my indulging my enjoyment."

"Yes, because letting you have your way always works so well for me," she muttered, then blushed. "Um… what I meant was... "

Severus laughed again, and reached for her hand.

"I _don't_ enjoy being confused," she said irritably. "And I particularly don't enjoy being laughed at when I am. _'Miss Granger.'_ Honestly, Severus."

"Imagine my surprise," he said softly, his tone returning to something more usual, but his dark eyes still gleaming with amusement. An amusement that was tingeing with something else, something Hermione found rather distracting.

Withdrawing her hand, she folded her arms. "Explain. Please."

"Very well," he said amiably, leaning back again, his legs stretched out before him as if he had unlimited leisure. "Basic Muggle mathematics."

Mind completely spinning, Hermione nodded for him to continue.

"Why can one not divide by zero?"

"Because the answer is undefined," she replied promptly, reciting the answer every Muggle schoolchild knew by heart.

His eyes glittered, a barely restrained riot of deviant wisdom. "Think, Hermione, and try it again. Why can one not divide by zero?"

She frowned at him. "Because dividing by zero makes no sense. You cannot evenly portion out a whole into equal parts if the parts themselves are not parts, but nothing."

He shook his head, and the untamed amusement in his eyes grew wilder, deepened into something untranslatable.

His expression rather reminded her of Crookshanks, and she tossed her hair. "Severus, please. What are you on about?"

With a patience so infinite it made a delicate mockery of itself, he repeated the question. "Why can you not divide by zero?"

"Because," she said, exasperated, "there's no point!"

And then she froze.

"It's the wrong question, isn't it," she said, an intensity born in her eyes, quickly growing to match his. "You _can_ divide by zero, you just… don't. Unless - "

" - unless the circumstances demand it - "

" - and you don't expect a rational answer - "

" - and you require that the answer _not_ make sense - "

" - and the outcome you _want_ is for the answer to be undefined," Hermione breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Unthinkable, isn't it." Severus' eyebrow arched over his darkly sparkling eyes.

They both smiled.

Definitely not nice.

So far beyond "not nice," in fact, that - had they but seen it - every Gringotts goblin would instantly have deserted his post and caught the first flying carpet out of the country.

And goblins _never_ leave their gold.


	47. Watching and Waiting

A/N: Luna is still in absentia. My thanks, as always, to Anastasia, whose long-distance partner-in-crime-ness freed a muse who got seriously stuck.

* * *

**Watching, Waiting**

_They both smiled._

Definitely not nice.

So far beyond "not nice," in fact, that - had they but seen it - every Gringotts goblin would instantly have deserted his post and caught the first flying carpet out of the country.

And goblins never_ leave their gold._

As one, Phineas Nigellus and Mrs. Black reappeared in her frame, nearly slamming into each other in their haste. They exchanged a brief, affronted glare, during which Mrs. Black readjusted the lace at her throat, and then they turned as one to Severus and Hermione.

"Well?" they demanded.

Still smiling, Hermione turned to them and said, "Manners slipping a little, are they?"

"Restraint is a quality devoutly to be admired in Slytherins," Severus drawled pleasantly, still kicked back in his chair. He laced his fingers behind his head.

Phineas Nigellus scowled at him and muttered something about "whippersnappers."

Mrs. Black elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "If you would be so kind as to share," she began, with only a hint of sarcasm.

Hermione's smile deepened, and, out of the corner of his eye, Severus noticed that she had a small dimple.

He arched his eyebrow appreciatively.

As if she felt his gaze – and perhaps she did – she shot him a knowing look and turned back to the portraits.

Mrs. Black continued, "What did you learn from Dumbledore?"

"He barely made it back in time," Phineas Nigellus grumbled, still massaging his ribs. "It was all the old cat could do to keep that great oaf of an - "

The triumphant gleam fled Hermione's eyes as her heart sank. _Hagrid._ She closed her eyes.

Phineas Nigellus didn't notice. " – over-promoted gamekeeper out of her office until he returned. Absolutely raging, he was, howling on about something – sounded like 'grappling' – couldn't make it out. Demanded entrance. Very nearly thought he'd break the door down."

"Grawp," Hermione said softly. "He was talking about Grawp." _Oh, Hagrid._ "His half-brother. He's a… well… he doesn't speak English very well," she finished lamely.

Severus caught her mood and brought his hands to his lap, sitting straighter. He glanced at her, apprehension clouding his eyes.

She met his look, and he saw that her fear and worry were back. "There's no workaround yet. Not for Hagrid."

Severus nodded, and then the wizard who had embraced his own decades of bondage was nearly overwhelmed with resentment at how much this week had asked of her – how she had marshaled her strengths to nearly invisible service, how she had been attacked for it – and how she had brought them so swiftly near the endgame without a single casualty on their side. He knew she would not want to rest until she found a workaround for the Indemnity required by the Horcrux in Nagini.

Severus also knew that she was exhausted, and that she hadn't the slightest idea where to begin.

"I sort of skipped that one, didn't I," she said, the dark circles under her eyes making her look suddenly older. Ages older – and as though the years had not been kind.

"We both did," Severus said quietly, with a fleeting wish that, however her face might change, she would live long enough to be as old as she looked at that moment.

He very pointedly decided not to think about whether or not he would be there to see it.

There was silence in the hall for a moment. Phineas Nigellus and Mrs. Black waited, watching them, until Mrs. Black could contain herself no longer. "Well? What was it that had Dumbledore so addled he risked exposing his secret?"

Phineas Nigellus nodded, turning a questioning face to Severus.

"He and I had a longstanding debate, and I've just conceded a point – one point," he said, smirking slightly for the portraits' benefit. _Daft, Snape._ "Nothing more." His smirk widened into a smile that was the opposite of innocent.

"Oooh!" Frustrated, Mrs. Black sputtered, then threw her reticule at him – a bit of a miscalculation, as it hit the barrier of the canvas – at least Hermione supposed it did – and ricocheted to hit Phineas Nigellus' shoulder.

"Calm yourself, you sodding bint!" Phineas Nigellus thundered.

She turned to him and, in an astonishing display of vocabulary that left no doubt where Kreacher had learned his limited but offensive lexicon, she let fly with a flourish of opinion that started with her sons and traced a rapid, explosive line backward through the Black family tree.

Hermione and Severus did not know how many generations were between Mrs. Black and Phineas Nigellus; nor did they have any wish to find out.

She was still in full cry – "Don't - !" and "You will _not_ - !" "Go bugger yourself, and - " and had exchanged English for Anglo-Saxon by the time Severus and Hermione made it through the kitchen, heading for the garden.

"The imperative does seem to be a mood, doesn't it," Severus remarked dryly, as they closed the back door behind them.

"Rather a tense one," Hermione agreed, and they shared a low laugh in the darkness before the hole in their thinking where Hagrid's workaround should have been, but wasn't, gaped wide before them.

"Hermione," Severus began.

She turned to him, burying her face in the hollow of his neck. "I don't even know where to start, Severus."

The anguish in her tone deepened the shadows on his face as he held her.

"I don't even know where to start," she repeated, softly, some of the tension easing out of her body as she leaned more closely against his chest.

There was nothing to say, so he said nothing.

Overhead, perched in the leafy branches of a tree, Tayet was watching rainclouds swirl away, taking with them the light they reflected from the city below.

The night was moonless; the stars, somehow, indifferent.

This didn't matter to Tayet. She just didn't think they'd be good to eat.

Lulled by Severus' silence below, she tucked her head under her wing and fell asleep.

/x/

"I can't get him to understan', Minerva, I can't." Hagrid was pacing the headmistress' office, his steps so agitated and heavy that several of the older portraits were clutching the insides of their frames as they rattled against the wall.

"Hagrid - "

"'E's smart, Minerva, 'e is, honest, but 'e jes' keeps shakin' 'is 'ead, and sayin' 'No.'"

"Hagrid, plea - "

"'E won't listen ter me!" Hagrid turned to the headmistress, eyes blazing with unshed tears. "I have ter make 'im understan'!"

"Hagrid," Minerva said, sternly, with a look that could stop a misbehaving student at twenty paces – from behind.

Hagrid gulped, and was silent.

Several portraits relaxed their holds on their frames.

Minerva stoically ignored the headache that centred behind her eyes. Hagrid had been growing louder, and his accent increasingly thicker, for a full five minutes, and it was of no small wonder to Minerva that the windows hadn't broken from the force of his voice alone.

Never mind his feet.

"He doesn't want to understand, Hagrid," she sighed, holding up a hand before Hagrid could do more than inhale to let out another despairing bellow. She wished Dumbledore would stop pretending to be asleep; comforting the half-giant was proving nearly impossible.

Hagrid sighed, and a stack of parchments fluttered from her desk to the floor. She closed her eyes, thought briefly but longingly of Flooing for Molly, and tried to ignore the steady pounding in her head, which felt like being hexed from inside her own skull.

She had waited too long to continue speaking. Hagrid was pacing again; the portraits grabbing once more at their frames. His shouts echoed in the office, slamming into her as they bounced off the stone walls.

Even the Sorting Hat, which usually slept all summer, woke up enough to grimace and turn its face to the wall.

Long after she had run out of reasonable ways to word "He doesn't understand" and "Give him time" and had resorted to repeating herself insensibly, Hagrid finally stayed calm for a few minutes.

Which stretched into a few minutes more.

Minerva waited, watching him. The portraits didn't dare move.

Finally, Hagrid looked at his feet, mumbled, "Thanks, Minerva," and stumped out of the office.

She rested her forehead against the cool skin of her palm for a moment, then stood and crossed to the locked cabinet where Dumbledore had kept potions that were rather too strong to be given to students without parental permission – the side effects being decidedly pleasurable – but were not worth bothering Madam Pomfrey for, should the staff have need.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you take one, Minerva," Dumbledore said softly, from his frame.

"Albus," said Minerva irritably, "is there no way to manage him?"

"I often found that happening upon him outside at regular intervals proved tolerable, acoustically," Dumbledore offered, then smiled wistfully as he saw Minerva add "Schedule accidental meetings with Hagrid" to her mental calendar.

Her hand paused on the way to the cabinet, and Dumbledore saw her remember that such meetings might not be necessary several days hence.

"Will she – will Miss Granger find a workaround for… for this one, Albus?" Minerva asked, failing to keep her voice as steady as she'd hoped.

"I do not know, Minerva."

Something about the quality of the silence that followed prickled the hairs on her neck.

Almost to himself, Dumbledore continued, "I'm afraid that I do not see how."

"So you've known about the others, then?" she turned sharply toward him.

"No, Minerva," he shook his head gently, the movement seeming to gather his thoughts back to their normal patterns. "I knew merely that workarounds were theoretically possible - with the correct information and guidance, even probable. But this one… " he said, and again lapsed into silence.

Minerva stood for a moment, then turned again to the cabinet to peer over her spectacles at the rows of neatly-labeled bottles. _Best not ingest the wrong one of _these_, to be sure._ Her hand closed around the correct bottle, the last in its row. _I'll have to ask Severu - _

An instant later, she was looking at Dumbledore's portrait in horror.

/x/

Hearing a door open and a floorboard creak in the hallway, Molly Weasley woke up, listening.

She waited for another sound.

Then, in between Arthur's snores, she heard footsteps moving carefully down the hall.

Molly smiled. "_Good girl,"_ she thought. Whispering, "_Muffliato_," she nestled closer to her husband and went back to sleep.

/x/

Minerva reached weakly for the desk. "Albus." She stared at the portrait. "No."

Albus regarded her calmly, but behind his serene demeanor he was watching her sharply.

She needed no more confirmation that the look on his face. The potion in her hand forgotten, she turned decisively toward the door, heading for the Floo.

"No." The former headmaster's voice was soft, but she nonetheless responded reflexively to his command.

Then she wheeled back to face him. "But she's in _danger_, Albus!"

"Rather less, at the moment, than the rest of you, I should think," Dumbledore replied, his tone still carrying with it a whisper of warning.

"But – but she _cannot_ be working with - "

Minerva reached for the nearest chair and collapsed gracelessly into it. "But Albus," she said, her mind amazed at how rapidly it had just reshuffled itself. "Albus, her Patronus… she - " Minerva passed a hand weakly over her face.

Albus waited for Minerva to stammer herself out, observing her warily lest she make any sudden move toward the Floo.

"That emerald that's stuck in the Slytherin hourglass. That was _you_," she said finally, another piece falling into place.

"An excellent deduction. The emerald is, I confess, permanent," Albus said, unable to keep a note of self-congratulation from his voice despite the delicate balance of Minerva's mood and the inherent danger in her possible actions. "The other Houses will rise to the challenge, I am sure," he finished, his eyebrows lifting in wistful anticipation. He would only be able to witness the effect of this token advantage through the next generations by proxy.

Minerva finally found her voice. "_You gave him House points for killing you?_" Much as she wanted – even needed – to Floo Grimmauld Place and sequester Miss Granger safely back at Hogwarts, she found herself far too amazed even to consider standing.

"Only the one," Albus chuckled. "It seemed nicely symbolic."

Minerva drew herself straight in the chair. "It seems you owe me another explanation, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and, lest you think you have endless time to talk me 'round the loch with your maddening riddles inside enigmas wrapped in mysteries, tongue-twisters and… and _twinkling_ - " Her inflection lent that word a particularly unpleasant connotation. " - I am giving you five minutes to explain yourself – to _my_ satisfaction – before I Floo Miss Granger and order her back to Hogwarts."

"Ah, Minerva. That, I am afraid, you cannot do."

She smiled bitterly. "Why, Albus, I believe you'll find that I can. And be assured that I will, unless I find your explanation satisfactory." Her eyes snapped at him.

"Miss Granger has an appointment at an unspecified time, and must remain in Grimmauld Place at least until then."

"… an… appointment?" That Minerva remained unbeaten by the swift turns this conversation was testimony more to her heritage than to any particular quality of her own.

"With our man in Havana, Minerva," Albus looked at her seriously.

All of the blood ran from Minerva's face. If she had been standing, she would have fallen, Scot or no. In a shocked, toneless whisper, she asked, "Albus. What… what are those two children going to _do_?"

"They're going to divide by zero."

/x/

"Harry?"

The whisper came directly into his ear, and Harry bolted upright in bed, reaching automatically for his glasses, his hand encountering no one.

Ron was snoring on the other side of the room.

Leaning over to the nightstand, he found his hand entangled in what felt like a bit of rubbery string.

"Harry, tug the string if you can hear me."

He tugged.

Another whisper. Irritable. "Gently! I almost dropped it. It's Ginny. Meet me in the orchard, on the other side of the garden wall."

In a few minutes, Harry was swirling off the Invisibility Cloak behind the wall, where Ginny had her wand lit as a beacon.

"Can you lay that out?" Ginny said. "The ground's damp, and this could take a while. I don't feel like standing.

Harry complied without question, wishing he'd thought to stop for slippers.

"Thanks, Harry," Ginny said, settling on the cloak and drawing her knees up under her nightgown.

"How'd you do that?" he said, gesturing to her hands where she was coiling and uncoiling an Extendable Ear.

"This?" Ginny smiled up at him, a bit sadly. "I reversed the Charm so it would work for speaking. Hermione actually gave me the idea," she said. "I'm thinking of selling the idea to Fred and George. Funny that they haven't thought of it yet," she mused, but her tone was distracted.

Harry stood and watched the play of dim wandlight on her hair, which was moving slightly as she breathed.

"Harry," she said, quietly, "I think you're going to want to sit down."

Harry obeyed and sat facing her, his back against the garden wall. He was careful not to sit too close.

"Too far, Harry," she said.

"I – I'm sorry?"

Ginny laughed quietly. "You're too far away." She shifted around until she had worked her way under his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder, her arm across his waist.

"That's a little better," she conceded, still sounding as though she were thinking seriously about... something. Something else.

Harry let out the breath it felt like he'd been holding since he'd heard her whisper in his ear. In his opinion, this position was a lot better. His fingers finally touched the lock of hair he'd been staring at for weeks. Maybe years.

"But - " Ginny said, pensively, but with a hint of the wicked mischief people had, to their peril, often overlooked in the twins' little sister, " - it's a little chilly out here." She drew the edges of the Invisibility Cloak around them, over them, and settled in against him.

"Now listen to me, Harry Potter," she began sternly, ignoring the fact that his fingers were trailing up her arms, sending cool shivers all along her skin. "There is a right way and a wrong way to do things, and you've had your way for long enough to know that, unless you get very lucky, your way is the wrong way. Do you understand me?"

He didn't, but he nodded, marveling at the feel of her skin.

She knew he didn't, but she continued, "Good. My way," she breathed, raising her face to his, "depends more on decision than luck. It's much more reliable."

"All right, let's try it your way," he said, wanting but not daring to lean closer for a kiss, not when her eyes were still blazing out a warning.

"So decide, Harry Potter."

He drew in his breath, hoping to hear -

"Who do you hate?"

"Snape." It was a reflex.

"Why?"

"He's a git."

"So's Ron. Try again."

"Because… because he killed Dumbledore."

Ginny waited for a minute, listening, waiting for Harry's breathing to even, playing his hand with her own until some of his tension drained away, defeated.

"That's not why you hate him. You've hated him for years."

"But he deserves it!" Harry's voice raised.

Ginny's dropped, in equal measure. "I'm not arguing with you. I'm asking you why you hate him." Her gaze did not move from his eyes. "Why, Harry?"

Harry racked his memory for the first moment he'd hated Snape.

Ginny waited patiently.

Finally, Harry spoke. "Because he hated me first."

It sounded stupid, even to him.

"Which makes no sense, Harry. Why should he hate you when he'd never met you?"

"I – I don't know, Ginny." Harry hoped they would stop talking soon, but from the look in her eyes he didn't think that was likely.

Still. He had his arms around her, and she was toying with the placket of his pyjama top. He could, he decided, endure a little more.

"Which means there's one thing you don't know. Which means there may be more that you don't know."

"You sound a little like Hermione."

"She's worth listening to, Harry."

They were quiet for a while.

"Who else?"

"What?" He'd been lost in the feel of her hair, too wary, too certain that the talking wasn't over, to allow his hands greater freedom.

"Who else do you hate, Harry?" she said, very softly.

"Oh… well, Voldemort, of course."

Another silence.

Very carefully, her muscles coiled in case she needed to move quickly, Ginny said, "Don't you think his name should have come first?"

Harry's mind went very still.

Molly Weasley's youngest child and only daughter held her breath. Without knowing why, or even how she knew, she knew, instinctively, that what Harry did or said next might very well contain the answer to a much larger question.

For several heartbeats, Harry did not move.

Ginny watched him, waiting. Then she saw his eyes narrow, slightly, and had just enough time to see something deep within them come to life before his arms tightened strong around her and drew her into a fierce kiss.

For a long time neither one of them thought to breathe.

When he did, his first words were, "Thanks, Gin."

Not much. Not fancy.

But if the wizarding world slept a little more soundly that night, the reason was probably contained in those two words.


	48. Awakenings

A/N: Luna is still in absentia; thanks to all who pinch-hit. Special thanks, as per always, to Anastasia/TTFS, who took an early look at this chapter.

* * *

**Awakenings**

_But if the wizarding world slept a little more soundly that night, the reason was probably contained in those two words._

/x/

_Pop!_ Tonks reappeared and shook her head. "Can't do it. Can't see anything either."

_Pop!_ Lupin this time. "Still nothing."

_Pop!_ _Pop!_ _Pop!_

Tonks and Lupin watched as Moody Disapparated and reappeared several times in quick succession.

"Did you see anything?" Tonks asked.

"No." Mad-Eye's magical eye whirled in frustration. He calmed it and screwed up his face, a study in concentration. _Pop!_ And he was back again, growling.

"Alastor, please," Lupin admonished him, putting a hand on his arm before he could try again. "Just admit it. The wards have changed. No level of vigilance could have foreseen the birth of a new phoenix."

"Come on, Mad-Eye. Harry duty. I have to relieve Kingsley, anyway." Tonks turned back toward the Burrow.

She didn't; not really, but Lupin wasn't saying anything.

/x/

Mrs. Black and Phineas Nigellus stood at opposite sides of her frame. Only their backs, which were turned to each other, were visible. Every now and then, one would steal a look over a shoulder to see if the other had cracked yet.

"Turpentine," she muttered.

Instantly, he shot back, "Linseed oil."

She looked up, thinking hard. Then - "Mineral spirits."

/x/

"But Albus," Minerva giggled, a little hysterically, the potion finally taking full effect, "that can't be done! It's impossible… absolutely… " Her voice trailed off as her head nodded to her chest and she fell asleep.

Albus looked sympathetically at the witch who was now sleeping bonelessly in the chair that had so recently been his own. Asleep, with the potion relaxing her rigid posture and softening the lines on her face, the picture she posed reminded him of the young woman with sparkling eyes who had blown in on a wind from the Highlands. He took off his half-moon spectacles and polished them on his robes.

The book edged its way onto his lap.

Replacing his spectacles, he absently stroked its cover.

It ruffled its pages slightly. Had it not been a book, it might have been purring.

/x/

In the garden, Hermione was resting her cheek against Severus' chest, feeling his hands stroking her back gently. They stood together in silence.

Then he felt, rather than heard, her sigh.

"What will happen?" she asked softly.

He touched his lips to the top of her head and leaned his cheek against her hair. "I don't know."

"What do you think will happen?"

"A different question."

She laughed tiredly and nodded, her cheek still on his chest.

"Do you want to go indoors?"

She shook her head. "No. I like the sound of the leaves."

He transfigured a stone garden bench into a chaise and drew her onto it, sitting next to, stretching his arm across its curved back so that she could continue to lean on him.

_She looks so very tired…_ "Once Nagini is dead, if the Dark Lord's physical body should be sufficiently imperiled, he will probably attempt to gain control of Potter through the scar. Once that happens, and the Indemnity is subverted - "

"Or satisfied," Hermione said softly.

Severus' eyes tightened, but he forced himself to relax before speaking. "After that it will be up to Potter."

Hermione held herself very still, trying not to visualize the scene, not to think how many would die before the final moment – even if everything went right and it happened at all. "How is Harry supposed to destroy both the scar Horcrux and Voldemort's body?"

"I don't know."

In the branches above, Tayet stirred but did not wake.

"Severus, no matter what happens, you have to stay alive long enough to help Harry."

"I have managed thus far, Hermione. I have some skill at improvising – one Potter has forced me to hone. And I do have some idea how they both work."

She nestled closer within the curve of his arm, twisting a curl, more slowly than usual, watching it coil and uncoil, thinking. "Severus," she said, a bit later.

"Hm?" He'd been watching her hand worry her hair.

"Might Voldemort try to subvert the prophecy somehow?"

"I think not. His mind doesn't work that way, Hermione."

She glanced up at him. "So you think it's all fairly predictable, still? Despite the fact that the attacks on the Order haven't come off as he planned?"

Severus nodded. "He is probably unaware of his own pattern. He's brilliant, but a little…"

"Unreflective?"

He smirked. "I was going to say 'megalomaniacal,' but 'unreflective' works just as well. There are two ways to set yourself against the order of things. One is to make a completely new order, the other is simply to take the existing one and negate it, methodically. The latter takes little creativity; the fundamental order remains the same." He leaned his head to hers, slowly rubbing his cheek against her hairline, enjoying the contrast between her skin and her hair.

"So we're beating him at his own game." She closed her eyes and drifted for a moment in the feel of his skin on hers.

"In a sense."

She laughed, a small, brittle laugh. "Not very creative."

Severus kissed her forehead. "I beg to differ."

She lifted an eyebrow.

He gestured to the tree where Tayet was sleeping.

"Yes, well, I'm quite sure we didn't plan that," she muttered.

"And I'm equally certain that that doesn't matter," he said, gently. She sounded so tired…

Then her brow furrowed – "Hm."

"Mm?" He glanced down at her.

"Nothing. I hope it works."

He closed his eyes briefly, resting his hand in her hair. "So do I."

"How difficult do you think it will be to get – to get everyone that far?"

"Not nearly as difficult as had you not worked so quickly, and alerted Molly that night, at the Leaky Cauldron. In some ways she's the heart of the Order. Much of it. Her family alone... "

"And Minerva's its head, now." Hermione mused, reaching down for a fallen leaf. "Yes, I can see the strategic aspects."

Her hair spilled out of his hand as she moved.

She Transfigured the leaf into a soft blanket, which she drew over herself, settling back into the curve of his body. "And Hagrid's strength… and us…" her lips quirked in admission. "What are we, strategically... pure theory?"

He reached for her hand, and laced his fingers with hers. "More than that, Hermione. Perhaps much more."

"Perhaps," she said, both an echo and a confirmation.

A slight breeze rustled the branches overhead, and Tayet emitted a single grumpy note before going back to sleep.

They sat quietly for awhile, each focused on the other's presence in the darkness, in time, in the moment, the solid warmth of the other, closer than touch, closer even than thought, even with Legilimency.

"A day, you said?"

"Maybe a little more."

Hermione sighed. She looked at their intertwined hands, then slowly undid the buttons at Severus' cuff. In her mind she saw the threads of flame on his wrist, and could almost hear the hiss of transformation as the Mark was driven into his arm. "And… then what?" Her voice was deceptively casual, almost broken, something more than a request for speculation.

"How do you mean?" His tone, in turn, slightly more guarded.

She did not need to look at him to know that his eyes held a hint of warning, but she paid this no heed.

"What will happen to you? With the Vows, the Compulsion, and… " her finger brushed the skin near the Dark Mark. She didn't speak, and her finger stopped right at the edge of the Mark.

His eyes glittered, fascinated by her finger, which was tracing the line where the Mark began. "Should Potter defeat the Dark Lord, the terms of all of them will be fulfilled."

She nodded.

"And this?" She touched her heart.

He said nothing, but drew the edge of her blouse aside and felt the darkness there, swirling slowly. He touched the mark on her skin, and heard a faint rushing, a counterpoint to the breeze stirring the leaves above them. "It might stabilize, or it might disappear entirely. Blood magic is - unpredictable."

"At least you'll heal. Your soul will, I mean."

He shifted almost imperceptibly. "I suppose it will."

"And then?"

He said nothing.

"You don't expect a 'then,' do you." It wasn't a question.

His lips tightened, and he reached a fingertip to her face. "It's too much to expect, Hermione. Even with Ollivander's work, the chances of your - " He stopped himself. "The timing alone…"

With the sudden and slightly incongruous air of someone reciting a series of potion instructions, she said, "So as soon as everyone's in place, you'll cast the Foris Clausa spell to trap Voldemort." The briskness she had managed to project for a moment faltered, but she rallied, continuing, "In order to cast _Foris Clausa_, you'll have to intend to cast _Ava-_"

"Don't."

"And then you're committed to the Killing Curse. And you can't cast it on Voldemort because only Harry will be able to judge the timing, since half the battle will be within himself." Her eyes shadowed. "So even after all this, our lives depend on Harry."

"They have, all along." His hand left her hair and he rubbed a finger under his lip, staring at the garden wall.

_Oh, dear. Steady…_ "So even if we're right about the workaround - "

"We're right," he said evenly.

" – and even if the timing is perfect… technically Harry will have to destroy Voldemort's body and the Horcrux in his scar, simultaneously. If Voldemort's body dies too early, he's stuck in Harry, and if Harry's not strong enough… Oh, dear." Unconsciously, she brought the end of a curl to her mouth. "And if Harry shunts him out of his scar, like he did at the Ministry, then we're no better off and Voldemort will just try again, and he won't be distracted, so it'll be all the more difficult." She realized she was nibbling on her hair and scowled, dropping it. "The timing will have to be exact. No; none of us can do it for him."

He closed his eyes. She had no idea how precise the timing would have to be. He intended to manipulate it, for as long as he could. After that, it would depend on her matching his spell, on Potter, and on the bitch goddess, luck. _Twenty-to-one. Probably slightly worse._ But his voice betrayed only confidence. "The timing will be delicate, yes."

She drew the blanket aside and stood. "Then we'd best practice our part, hadn't we?"

He glanced at the circles under her eyes, but finally nodded.

Soon, the knife-edge of mist around the garden walls of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, reflected flashes of firing spells.

Overhead, in the branches, Tayet woke up, startled.

/x/

Hagrid tossed on his lumpy mattress. Even though Grawp refused to sleep indoors, Hagrid could hear his voice, carried on the night air through the chinks in the stones.

Even in his sleep, Grawp was mumbling, "No Hagger… no Hagger… "

Hagrid squeezed his eyes shut and tried again to fall asleep.

/x/

More spells flashed in the garden. Even using their Legilimantic connection to focus their timing, Severus was disarming Hermione two out of every three attempts. The third was because she was casting _Protego_ too early, which knocked him backwards. It was what he had trained her to do; it was effective, in a duel.

But this would be no duel; the timing had to be exact.

Tayet swooped down to perch on the chaise. She cocked her head at the flashes. "Squeep."

Neither Hermione nor Severus heard.

Tayet ruffled her wings in irritation, and watched as the flashes grew brighter. "Squeep!"

Hermione anticipated Severus' next Disarming attempt and her Shield spell knocked him several feet, onto his back.

"SQUERK!" Tayet cried, taking wing and flying to Severus' side. "SQUEEP!" She glared at Hermione, who stood, wand ready, panting.

"This is hopeless!" Hermione lamented, waiting for Severus to get to his feet. "You're going too fast."

"Squilp?" Tayet craned her head to look at Severus, her wings still outstretched, backing up as he rose to one knee. "Squerp?"

Severus was scowling, but he reached out and placed a hand on Tayet's neck. "It seems rather a disaster, doesn't it, little one," he muttered, caressing her feathers with a gentle finger.

"Squeep." Crooning softly, Tayet hopped onto his arm, beat her wings a bit for balance, then folded them. Her talons finding purchase in the thick wool of his sleeve, she worked her way toward his shoulder, and leaned her head into his hair. "Squeep," she said again, softly. She took his braid in her beak and tugged it gently. "Thqueep," she lisped through a beakful of braid, eyes glittering at him.

Hermione had dropped to her knees beside them, still breathing heavily from the exertion. "Oh," she murmured. "Of course. We're going about this the wrong way."

"You noticed," he spat, brushing bits of grass off of his elbows.

"We do make rather a habit of it," she snapped back. "Okay. We can't consciously control the timing."

"Apparently not." He shook his head, earning both a clenching of talons on his arm and a sharp tug in his hair as Tayet held on.

Sitting back on her heels, Hermione groaned. "Severus, I was never planning to do more than protect Harry. I can hold a Shield that covers two people for over an hour."

"At which point you collapse, catatonic, one supposes?"

"Well, yes, there is that, but…"

He shook his head, amazed. "And just how did you explain that to Poppy?"

"She was the one I practiced on."

Severus just looked at her. "Of course she was."

"She insisted, after the first time – anyway, that doesn't matter now." Hermione reached a hand out and took the braid, gently, from Tayet's beak.

Tayet looked at her calmly.

"Okay, so, her tear is supposed to help, somehow, for the timing?"

Tayet clicked her beak and launched herself back into the branches. She was very sleepy, and she liked the sound of the leaves.

Severus and Hermione looked at each other blankly.

"That could have been a 'yes,' I suppose" Severus drawled, getting to his feet and extending a hand to Hermione.

"It does seem so. But… how?" Hermione blew her hair out of her eyes.

Severus shook his head. "I have no idea. It's rather uncharted territory. There may be some sources - "

She glanced toward the house, toward the library.

"Tomorrow," he said gently, drawing her next to him. "There's still time." _For now._

Her arm around his waist, the wool scratchy but somehow right against her skin, her hand resting lightly on his hip.

Instinctive. Possessive.

In that moment, in that gesture, in its quality, Severus realized something. As they reached the door, he murmured, "Faith, Hermione."

It wasn't what he was thinking, not really, but it was close enough.

For now.

She stopped and looked up at him, and, as he bent his face to hers, the small braid swept forward. Tayet's tear brushed Hermione's eyelids closed.

One kiss in the doorway, then –

"I'm too tired to go upstairs," she sighed, leaning again into his chest.

A wave of his wand and the chaise flattened, widened, and waited. Hermione smiled and lay down, looking up at the stars. "Thank you."

Lying next to her, trailing a finger down her side, propped on his elbow, he watched her eyelids flutter closed in the deep starlight.

"Severus?" She had opened her eyes again.

"Shhh, Hermione. You're exhausted. Go to sleep."

"I will, in a minute, but - "

"Sleep. I'm right here, and I'll still be here in the morning."

She smiled, remembering the mirrors. "Whatever happens - "

He leaned his head down to hers, his hair brushing her neck. "Hermione - "

"Let me finish. Whatever happens – whatever you have to do - "

A note in her voice held his gaze; he could neither look away nor close his eyes.

"Whatever you have to do, Severus, I want you to remember three things."

He looked at her in the shadows and nodded.

"Promise me you'll remember?"

His voice so very soft - "I promise."

"This… lying here… with you…" her voiced trailed off.

"That's one?" he said softly.

She nodded. "That's one. I love you… can't believe… so lucky…"

He smiled, and smoothed her hair off of her forehead.

"And – and all I have to do is think of you, and…" She touched her fingertips to her wand and her Patronus appeared.

The otter scampered onto Severus' chest and happily waggled its paws at him.

He chuckled, and touched his own wand.

The jackal perched its paws on the bed and wagged its tail at Hermione, who smiled, almost asleep.

Weightless, pure light, the jackal jumped on the bed and sniffed at the otter, whose eyes went wide.

The jackal wagged its tail once, and the otter skittered between its legs and pounced on it.

Overhead, Tayet was awakened once more, this time by the sound of Severus' quiet laughter. With a contented "Squip," she went back to sleep.

/x/

Arthur mumbled and rolled over. Seeing the beginnings of light, but hearing no birdsong, he woke up a little more.

His movement awakened his wife, who smiled sleepily at him.

"_Muffliato_ again? I'm sorry, dear – was I snoring?"

"Loud enough to shake the foundations, as you have every night since I married you."

His eyes were warm in the pre-dawn glow as he rolled onto his side, facing her. "Well… as we're awake… "

Molly's smile deepened.

No sound emerged from their room for a long while.

/x/

The birds that Arthur couldn't hear had started to sound in the orchard.

Leaning against the wall with Ginny's head on his chest, Harry looked at the blurry image that was his fingers in her hair. _So pretty,_ he thought sleepily. With his other hand, he patted the damp ground for his glasses.

Ginny shifted in his arms and looked up at him with sleepy eyes. "Your glasses?"

He nodded. He hadn't known she was awake.

She reached up to one of the uneven stones in the wall. "I put them up here earlier, Harry."

She held them out of his reach and made him kiss her several times before she gave them back to him.

Even before he could see, she was beautiful.

/x/

On a very different island, it was still night.

In a house with no ceiling made of walls with no windows, Mr. Ollivander unbent and looked up as a dark liquid breeze stirred the palm fronds overhead.

The bamboo stand outside the door rattled a low tattoo as the wind rose.

One more step, and the first would be ready.

A moment later, the stars in the moonless sky overhead were eclipsed by the black glow emanating from the house with no ceiling.

Mr. Ollivander's face cracked into a weary smile. He would sleep now, for a few hours, while the island waited for the sun.


	49. In Gloriam

A/N: In defiant celebration of life. Warning: We spend part of this chapter in Mr. Ollivander's mind – Luna, that's for you.

The title of this chapter translates to "Into glory." Sources given below.

* * *

**In Gloriam**

_Mr. Ollivander's face cracked into a weary smile. He would sleep now, for a few hours, while the island waited for the sun._

The light was turning blue over the garden in Grimmauld Place.

Hermione opened her eyes and watched the morning for a few minutes, blinking slowly, reaching up to push her hair off her face.

_Smooth?_ She turned her head, and realized that their hair had mingled during the night. She raked her fingertips very lightly over Severus' hair, watching his face in repose. His eloquent face, slack with sleep, the shadows under his eyes stark against his pale skin; his lips slightly parted, his eyelashes a charcoal sweep, a gentle curve against the hard angles of his face. Her breath caught at the contrast.

Hearing him in memory, _I'm right here._ She smiled even as her throat tightened, wiping the smile from her face as her vision blurred.

She blinked rapidly. She would not cry. She would enjoy his face in the morning light.

His cloak over them, a fall of black silk, rustling.

Rippling in the corridors. Sweeping behind him, sarcastic punctuation with impeccable timing. Hiding the thin strips of white against dark wool.

_"Bewitch the mind… ensnare the senses… " Easy, Granger. You were eleven. Don't make it something it wasn't._

_It wasn't then, but it is now,_ her stubborn mind argued.

She drew her hand down, over the silk, remembering the night in the bolt-hole, the wind, his shoulders rising, the lean muscles in his arms straining, over her, as he moved within her, his hair tangling, unnoticed, in his eyelashes, dusting her skin as he bent, lower, a blazing intent, a decadent elevation, a strangled cry, and a glorious, luminous fall.

Whatever place logic had had in her waking up, here, this morning, next to him, it was long gone, a casualty to chaos, a sacrifice of war.

_For Harry._ Then - _Absurd, Granger. Absolutely absurd. You fell in love with your former Potions master – your _teacher_, a spy, wanted for murder, a 'traitor' to the light – for _Harry?

In an absurd way, it was true.

No one alive would believe her. If there were any left, in the end.

_Oh, gods…_

Her fingers hovering over the sharpness of his jaw, darkened in the morning shadow, hovering over his neck –

_- the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp contrast, in the fiery shadows, as the formula resolved in its deadly heartbeat, his breath coming sharp, shallow, sharper, destroying the last shreds of consciousness, borne away on a rising wind, his breathing tortured, her own, each breath within her, alive, a knife edge beyond which there was no nightfall, no sunrise, only forever in a moment and his eyes, wide, with horror, with gentleness, with the taint of knowledge never erased which he emblazoned deep within her, marking her, begging her forgiveness in his release, his despairing cry as the storm clouds on her heart broke free and she cried her triumphant hope as the clouds swirled, a low, endless keening, and the benediction of softness a kiss at her eyelashes a sweeping caress on her neck a warm hand on her breast, and he was collapsed, undone, breathless, open, and never whole, listening to her heart beating in wonder..._

Could he?

How could he?

But how could she not have? In any rationally erratic, irrational, chaotic system of the human heart, her skin, her body, everything within her alive under his eyes, his voice, his breath, his touch, his anger, his passion, his hope, how could she not have?

Knowing that he remained the last thing she must face, how?

That she was the last in a long line of everything he'd ever lost - he, who had lost everything, how?

How had she found him?

He was broken. But not defeated.

Not him.

Not ever.

But as she watched him breathe, she bit her lip slightly.

Underneath the black silk, the blanket she had made of the leaf. Soft. So soft. Warm, white.

If you wake up one morning in the presence of everything, you say, "Yes."

Even if it's the last thing you ever do.

She rolled slowly to her side, her hand shirring the silk over his arm, up to his shoulder, to whisper on his cheek, and under the blanket, her hand on his stomach, flat, claiming, moving downwards, her face lifting toward his, the silk on his neck, her touches, insistent, behind his neck, lower, surrounding him, drawing him closer in the lightening shadows …

His first thought – _Glorious,_ and his eyes, aware, awed, stayed closed as the smallest groan escaped his lips into her own, resonant, into her chest, her heart, his wordless voice the air she breathed, her blood.

Her fingers a dance of intricate simplicity, pure touch, sensation, and his thoughts a spiraling purpose; his hand, fiercely, into her hair, behind her head, holding, no reserve, no restraint as he slipped his hand his thumb brushing her breast, down her side, grasping her hip, around, behind her, covering her back, drawing her closer; her leg, smooth, over his own, her hand leaving, moving to his thigh, around, now, please, yes, all of me, Hermione, all of me …

... now, please, I can't, I can't, I can't…

_"Yes. You can."_ A feral truth in her mind that she felt, everywhere.

_"All of you. All."_ Her eyes searing into his, through his mind, to his heart, beyond, reaching for his soul.

_"All,"_ she insisted gently in his mind, poised in a moment of trembling stillness, holding him, hovering, trembling on the edge of a last movement, drawing him down, covering her, consuming him, demanding more…

And lips and hands and legs and hips meeting, sweeping, rising, enraging, empowering, his body slipping, hidden, within, hers, surrounding…

Then no skin – no power, no magic, no life beyond everything they held between them.

And he held her, his eyes wild, alive, his arm braced, tension, unbearably strong, her body rising, his hand under her shoulders, lifting, easing…

Joy, perfection, her hair a fallen, tangled sweep across the pillow -

- and her voice, untamed, untranslatable, loud, glorious, and strong in the morning -

And as she laughed the sun over the horizon, he drove the night into yesterday.

/x/

The line dividing night from day moved westward, a vast expanse, the great blue motion of the sunlit sea.

Although she didn't know it existed, Tayet knew the ocean.

She was a drop, albeit a sparkling one.

/x/

The sun on the walls with no windows cast a sharp moving shadow across the floor of the house with no ceiling.

Ollivander's hands gnarled over an unblemished white birch sprig, fallen to his hands from the zenith on a summer solstice over a decade before. "_Ne dederis maculam in gloriam tuam,_" he chanted, harsh, low, rising and falling with the rushing wind above, the sea below and the chaotic, endless rhythm of waves, breaking. "Let nothing stain your glory…"

He reached for the black phoenix feather - the first. The last.

The shadow receding, inexorably, the sun swallowing the floor, his legs, the legs of his worktable.

He watched the sun's progress, focusing, waiting for exactly the right – "_Glorius!_"

As the sun touched wood and feather and they fused into a perfect column of light and overhead the breeze stilled and the sea was silent and no waves no rhythm all sound stopped…

The only shadow was under the table, a shadow around the first one, ebony around a core of white, resting, hovering, suspended in a web of magic, at the center, waiting.

… and the waves resumed and the sea rushed and the bubbles broke sparkling on the sand and the wind rattled the palm fronds and Mr. Ollivander's hands fell to his side.

_Glorious._

The one in the light and the one below, waiting…

Mr. Ollivander's voice, once more, a rich cadence to his strange work:

"_Non erit tibi amplius sol ad lucendum per diem nec splendor lunae inluminabit te sed erit tibi animus in lucem sempiternam et anima tua in gloriam tuam._"

And both wands were silent, tuned, ready.

He closed his eyes and his shoulders sagged, slightly. Turning once again to the pallet in the corner, he repeated, "Thou shalt no more have the sun for thy light by day, neither shall the brightness of the moon enlighten thee, but your animus shall be unto thee for an everlasting light, and thy anima for thy glory."

He sat and stretched his legs out before him.

_Aramaic, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, English… immaterial, for this matter, does it matter? Or, for that matter, Sanskrit, Swahili, Arapaho?_ He paused, scowling. _Binary, hexadecimal, the Periodic Table? D major, A major, b minor, f# minor, G, D, G, A…_

He paused, and wiggled his toes.

_G major 7, c minor! A victory march? Sculpture, samba, sonnet… (Petrarchan? Spenserian? Shakespearean?)_ A manic gleam began in his eyes. Slowly, very slowly, he raised a single finger. _Haiku!_ He scratched his ear. _Yes, haiku, perchance binomial nomenclature…_

More muttering.

He examined his hands and chortled. Oh, yes.

He counted on his fingers. "Midnight, high noon." _Two. Two for tea. Tea for two… _

The delivery would wait until tea-time.

To everything...

"… everlasting light… in your glory… sun… moon… _luna_…"

It was already past tea-time in England, of course, but time mattered differently to Mr. Ollivander. It was one minute past noon on the outskirts of Havana, and he felt like taking a nap.

* * *

Note on sources:

The "fate of this man... was less than a drop, although it was a sparkling one, in the great blue motion of the sunlit sea" (677). T.H. White, on the death of King Arthur, in _The Once and Future King._

Mr. Ollivander's Latin (translated in the text) is from Ecclesiastes 33:24 (_Ne dederis maculam…_) and based on Isaiah 60:19 (_Non erit tibi…_; emended in the text: animus/Dominus; anima tua/Deum tuum). (If I've botched the Latin in the emendations, blame it on the fact that it was an 8 a.m. class.)

D major, A major, &c.: The chord structure (a broken circle of fifths) of Pachelbel's _Canon in D_.

G major 7, c minor: The last two chords of Beethoven's _Symphony No. 5_, I, the opening four notes were used as a code for "victory" during WWII (dot dot dot dash "V").

"Haiku, perchance binomial nomenclature" is an Ollivanderian allusion to Hamlet's line, "To sleep, perchance to dream" from the "To be or not to be" soliloquy.

…if I had to guess, I'd say he's thinking about forms, broken and whole. Don't worry. Dumbledore didn't fully understand him either. Ari


	50. In Memoriam

A/N: Luna is back and catching up on the story. A sober twirl of the quill to Ferporcel, Indigofeathers, and most especially Anastasia, for providing Magnetic North. The title of this chapter translates to "Into Memory." Wishing all U.S. readers a perfect Memorial Day...

* * *

**In Memoriam**

_It was already past tea-time in England, of course, but time mattered differently to Mr. Ollivander. It was one minute past noon on the outskirts of Havana, and he felt like taking a nap._

"Good morning, Minerva," Dumbledore said placidly as he saw her begin to stir.

The haze outside the windows held the early gold promise of sunrise.

The smallest change to her expression, which he knew meant, "Don't speak to me until I've had my tea."

Dumbledore feigned sleep as, with the uncanny instinct of house-elves everywhere, Dobby appeared at Minerva's elbow with a pot of tea. He waited until Dobby had winked out, then opened his eyes.

After she'd taken a few sips of tea, Minerva's posture resumed its usual strictness. "I am awake, Albus, and I still insist on a satisfying explanation."

"No unpleasant side effects to the potion, I hope?" he queried.

Her lips pinched in irritation. "Of course not." She gestured vaguely, as if by doing so to indicate the potion's maker, then stopped herself, dropping her hand into her lap. "Explain yourself, Albus."

"Good, good - up to his usual excellent standards, of course, and why not?" Dumbledore's words were anything but innocuous. "Why not?"

She shot him a piercing look. "Albus, don't think for one minute that wordplay will-"

But as though she had not spoken, Dumbledore continued quietly, "When he had a choice, he always held himself and everyone around him to the strictest, highest standards. Himself most of all, certainly – and me. I tried not to disappoint him, but, at last, well… yes. I did. A foolish mistake - I ought to have thought more - it did seem a rather elegant solution. It wasn't, of course." He sighed, and the book on his lap nestled more comfortably under his hand, the ink spots from Harry and Hermione's flashing exchange smudging under Dumbledore's absent stroking, smudging ever nearer the blood-red thumbprint on its cover. The ink should have been dry, of course. "I was blinded by my own ego." He paused for a moment, and his tone changed. "I ought to have consulted Severus, Minerva. He would have seen the flaw in my thinking. I ought to have, and I did not. An old man's mistake."

_Regret?_ Minerva stayed silent.

"I had thought to keep one worry from him – from all of you. Instead, I added to his share. Immeasurably. He kept me alive, Minerva. For a year. For Harry. For him - although I do not believe he knew that. He may know, now…"

"Albus… are you saying that… that he brewed the potion that kept you alive?"

Albus inclined his head. "I am surprised you did not discern that sooner, Minerva."

"That you were already dying?"

Another nod.

"And you didn't see fit to share that information?"

"What could you have done? I judged it best that you not assume the mantle of responsibility too early, in an effort to spare me, with no thought to the toll on your own resources."

She shot him a thoroughly deadly glare. "You thought that little of my capabilities?"

"No, Minerva, I thought that highly of your heart. It was best for you, and-" he sighed "-and, more importantly, for Harry that the break be sharp. I would not have had either of you weakened by worry."

She bristled, then stopped, considering him for a moment. Then her eyes took on an echo of the sparkling girl he remembered, etched with the fine distinctions of experience, and she pursed her lips in a small, dry, and, to Albus, extremely worrisome smile. "And did it once enter your mind, Albus, as you were busy 'protecting' me, that by making me Headmistress before any final confrontation, you guaranteed that I will spend eternity on that wall with you?" She arched her eyebrows in mock innocence at him, a promise to spend at least a decade making him very aware of the wisdom in deciding to protect the Head of Gryffindor.

He smiled. "Yes, well, that was… that was part of my thinking, yes." He looked at her very seriously, but somehow softly. "Whenever it happens, however it happens, Minerva, I shall be right here."

"Oh, Albus." Her tone was arid, but it was belied by a sudden brightness in her eyes. She moved to stand near his portrait.

Her hand rose to the canvas, and his reached down to meet it.

The book lay very still.

Albus' hand reached to smooth her hair, but of course he could not, and she finished the gesture for him, smiling sadly.

The book ruffled its pages under his hand.

A little too briskly, Minerva noted, "It seems you have a new friend."

Albus' hand fell again to rest on the book cover. "She has a part to play, I think, before all is resolved."

Minerva's eyebrows raised slightly at the pronoun. "She?"

He smiled enigmatically. He shook his head, as if to clear it, but Minerva's eyes narrowed. He continued to smile.

Minerva appeared to consider her options for a moment, and decided to leave the matter of the book for later. "You have yet to explain Miss Granger's current… hm… situation, Albus." Her piercing stare was back.

/x/

Hermione's situation was, at that moment, one that she would not have cared to explain to anyone save the man lying next to her.

And he, of course, required no such explanation.

"Severus," she said quietly.

"Mm?"

She just smiled at him.

And he knew, in that moment, that the look on her face as she smiled at him, with eyes clear, unclouded, and calm, would be the last of his memories to leave him.

/x/

Albus regarded Minerva calmly.

Minerva sat, exasperated. "Albus, really. You heard our conversations. That I thought it was Malfoy, for an awful moment… I had hoped it would be young Mr. Malfoy. And that perhaps they would – a spontaneous Patronus? Albus, you know that hardly ever happens…"

"I believe such moments may rightly be described as 'real,'" he agreed.

"For hers to appear – Albus, is he… is he there with her?"

He nodded.

"The whole time?"

"He has actually been at Grimmauld Place far longer than you realize, Minerva. I keyed a warning for him into a small device – with Fawkes' assistance, of course. We placed it directly over his heart; it warms whenever an Order member Apparates to Headquarters; he has time to Disapparate, and avoid discovery."

Minerva's gaze was unwavering. "Phineas Nigellus," she said flatly.

Dumbledore confirmed his source with a nod before continuing, "Miss Granger appeared on the day he found Salazar Slytherin's locket among the souvenirs Kreacher had squirreled away. Severus had, I believe, already elected to remain to deliver it to whichever Order member next appeared."

Minerva snorted. "It would have been interesting had it been Alastor."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "It was a calculated risk, Minerva. Severus has ever been a master at calculating odds."

She looked at him, speculating. "Potter's birthday."

"Indeed. Insofar as I can reconstruct his probable logic, most of the members on duty, and all of the Weasleys, along with Miss Granger, would be with Harry that evening – and thus anyone Apparating on that day would have a secret purpose for doing so. Of all of the Order, Minerva, who would be the most likely to take advantage of the distractions of a birthday dinner at the Burrow, using it as cover to slip away to do some quiet work? Or who, understanding what the house meant to Harry, might wish to slip away quietly to test a theory, perhaps one involving the belongings of that most unfortunate house-elf?"

In spite of the well-banked fire of tension and anger that Minerva was still working to control, the corner of her mouth twitched as she remembered S.P.E.W. "Miss Granger."

Dumbledore smiled slightly.

"A complex series of odds to calculate," she said, pensively.

"He has had relatively little to do until very recently," Dumbledore said placidly. "I suspect he occupied himself with calculating several such possibilities. Assessing probable variants based on few known facts was ever one of his most valuable talents, and not only as a Potions master."

Minerva couldn't deny it. In earlier, more peaceful years at Hogwarts, watching the man in mock duels had been awe-inspiring – and he had been a formidable opponent, anticipating his challenger's moves with decidedly eerie prescience. Many had believed his success at dueling was the result of some unrelinquished Dark work, of some moral lapse he held close to him, concealed. Some few – herself, Dumbledore, Flitwick, certainly, Bill Weasley, probably – had realized that his apparently uncanny skill was merely, mundanely cerebral – a strategic ability similar to the youngest Mr. Weasley's rogue talent for chess – only blindingly, infinitely faster.

Coming out of her reverie, Minerva shook her head. "The poor girl must have been terrified."

A barely discernable pause before his reply. "No doubt she was."

"Still," Minerva mused, "once she recovered from the initial shock-" She glanced at him, sharply. "Very well, Albus. I will accept your implicit explanation, that his – that Severus'… actions… on the tower -" she had to force herself to continue, "… were in accordance with your wishes… ?"

She glanced at him, and he nodded.

"Even that they were on your orders… ?"

Another glance; another nod.

Minerva shifted slightly in her chair, and, after only a brief hesitation, nodded once, stiffly, then continued, "And that you provided him with access to Headquarters, and that he was able – somehow – to gain Miss Granger's trust and provide the Order with valuable information. Oh," she sat back, startled, as another piece fell into place in her mind. "The trapping spell. That was the product of his research, I presume?"

"I believe so, yes. Some texts do not react well to Muggle-borns."

Her eyes widening slightly, Minerva nodded once, sharply, in understanding. "Quite. But Albus - that does not explain Miss Granger's Patronus." She sat straighter in her chair, poised to spring. "Please, Albus." Her tone held all of the determination of one who had once failed. "She is so young, and-"

"And by her own calculations, calculations which have passed the exacting scrutiny of yourself and the inestimable Bill Weasley – Minerva, before you leap to protect her, do remember that she has for several days believed this week to be her last. And that, barring an unforeseen impossibility, she is quite correct in believing so." His gaze was compassionate; his tone gentler than a phoenix tear. "You remember what war can be."

The eyes that met his own were suddenly very old, and his heart tightened. "Too well," she whispered. "If only-"

Dumbledore shook his head. "We had this discussion long ago, Minerva. What happened happened. It balanced, in the end, did it not?"

"Yes…" She paused, clearing her throat. "Yes," she finished, turning her gaze to the window, to the pitch, whose bright pennants she could make out in the growing light.

Dumbledore did not interrupt her memories; he knew them almost as well as he knew his own. He merely waited, rubbing his thumb pensively on the frayed corner of the book.

Finally, still looking out the window, Minerva spoke again, her voice somehow an echo of itself. "Albus, does he–" She couldn't seem to finish.

"Love her?" he asked gently.

Her voice sounded strangled. "Does he?"

Dumbledore's eyes clouded slightly, and Minerva turned in time to see it.

"I do not think that he believes he can, Minerva."

"If her Patronus appeared, Albus, his must have. And surely he must know…"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "For so long he has been the exception to every usual answer, every apparently logical explanation. He has seemed so many things to so many so successfully that one wonders if he can truly _be_, even to himself."

Minerva nodded slowly. "I see that, but – but the phoenix? She looks to one of them. Which?"

"Both, I believe."

"But Albus! That's impossible!"

"Indeed, Minerva, so it is; nonetheless, I believe it to be true."

She shook her head, amazed. "And even with such evidence, he doesn't believe himself capable of love?"

"He has reason, Minerva. And perhaps it is best, for him, that he continue to believe those reasons... for now…" Dumbledore's voice was serene, but there was a note in it that Minerva found profoundly unsettling. Off, somehow.

Her brow furrowed, and her voice dropped dangerously. "What do you mean?" she asked carefully. She knew instinctively that she did not want to know the answer, and she reached slowly for the arms of her chair.

In the same off tone, "Minerva, do you honestly believe he would let anyone harm Miss Granger?"

"No, of course not." Then a possibility alighted in her mind. It changed almost instantly to certainty.

A sudden, resounding crash as the ornate chair that had for centuries belonged to the Head of Hogwarts hit the floor.

Minerva was on her feet, clutching the edge of her desk for support, her nails digging small dents in its surface. "He means to do it himself. Doesn't he? Doesn't he? _Answer me, Albus Dumbledore._" Her eyes were blazing.

"If it must be done, he believes it were best done by his own hand."

The dents in the desk became gouges as Minerva valiantly fought a dreadful urge to scream.

Ultimately, she failed. Minerva's wild eyes bored into Dumbledore's own. "_And the damned fool _still_ doesn't believe he loves her?_"

Dumbledore had no answer.

The ink-spattered, blood-stained book on his lap nudged Dumbledore's hand until, after a long stillness, his thumb began again to worry at its frayed corner.

/x/

For as long as there was a Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and as long as there was a someone at its head, no amount of rubbing - from pensive fingers, worried palms, or industrious house-elves - would ever remove the gouges Minerva had made in the ancient desktop.

Because some scars are permanent. Especially those borne of love.


	51. Standing

A/N: My thanks to Melenka, who's now caught up, and to the fact that it is raining and the house is quiet. And a bit of a sharp poke in the ribs to TTFS, for the hell of it.

* * *

**Standing**

_Because some scars are permanent. Especially those borne of love._

"Harry?"

The sun was just over the horizon as they walked, fingers entwined, back toward the house. "Yeah, Gin?" He pulled her in toward him for yet another kiss.

She smiled afterwards, but it was a serious smile. "There's another meeting this morning, isn't there?"

Harry nodded, and they walked more slowly toward the house.

Ginny grimaced. "I suppose I'll be left at home again. With my French 'nanny.'"

Harry almost laughed, but thought twice. Instead, he looked at the ground, at the mangled ends of his shoelaces, then at the sky, where a wispy cloud was tinged gold by the rising sun. "It's going to happen soon, Gin."

"I'm going to be there with you, Harry. Don't even think about trying to stop me."

He knew better. They stopped walking, and he brought his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him in a brief but determined hug. "I wouldn't, Gin. I want you there. I need you there."

The look in his eyes would have done much to reassure Lupin; Ginny breathed more easily than she had in a month. "Yes, you do, Harry."

The regarded each other openly, a little searchingly, as if testing the strength of their renewed bond, their resolve. Each saw what they had hoped to, and feared they might not, and, unconsciously, they nodded slightly.

"Tell you what," he said conversationally, holding her hand tightly, swinging it a little, as they crossed the garden. "When we face Voldemort, you cast a Bat-Bogey Hex on him, and I'll do the rest. Deal?"

"We?"

"We," Harry repeated quietly.

Ginny squeezed his hand. "Deal."

/x/

Tonks and Lupin were already at the breakfast table when Harry and Ginny came in. Tonks took one look at their faces, and glanced at Lupin, squeezing his knee under the table.

Lupin looked up to wish them a good morning, and hesitated, a soft smile on his face, before speaking. "Good morning, Harry. Ginny." He glanced sideways at Tonks before taking another swallow of his tea.

They all heard the unmistakable tones of Arthur Weasley singing his way through his morning ablutions, and of Molly's footsteps growing louder on the stairs.

"C'mon, Ginny," Tonks said, rising from the table. "Let's get started on breakfa…"

Tonks' voice trailed off as Molly swept determinedly toward her youngest child. Harry let her hand go, but did not step away.

Molly tilted Ginny's chin up with her finger and searched her face, then looked appraisingly at Harry.

Everyone except for Ginny held their breath.

Molly's face broke into a slow smile, and she nodded. "Yes." A fast hug for Harry, who blushed furiously, and she was at the stove and issuing orders for her unusually willing helpers.

Tonks and Lupin maneuvered to have a corner to themselves as Harry and Ginny set the table.

"Will he be all right, then?" Tonks asked quietly, bending over a bowl of strawberries, from which she was removing the stems.

"I am more certain of that today than yesterday, although I fear…" Lupin's hand stilled on the spoon he was holding. He shook his head and beat the batter with renewed vigor.

"What?" Tonks whispered insistently, nodding her head toward the sideboard, where Ginny was scooping silverware into Harry's waiting hands. "You think he'll get distracted?"

"No. He is too much like James for me to worry on that score. You've seen him play Quidditch?"

Tonks shook her head.

"His focus is unshakable."

"So what is it, then?"

"Remus, is that batter ready?" Molly called from the stove.

Lupin handed her the bowl, then turned to lean on the counter, watching Harry and Ginny arrange the silverware. Harry's hand was under Ginny's hair, his fingers moving on her neck as he straightened the knife she had just placed on the table.

Without breaking the rhythm she'd established with the strawberries, Tonks elbowed Lupin in the hip. "What?" she repeated, the tension audible in her voice.

"Snape."

Tonks' stance shifted automatically to one of readiness, and her eyes grew hard.

"Ease down, woman," Lupin said, placing a careful hand on her shoulder. "He's not billowing through the garden."

Tonks glanced sharply through the window, then realized that she'd shifted unconsciously into Auror-readiness, and dropped her hands briefly to the counter. "There will be enough of us, Remus. We'll take him out before Harry even knows he's there."

Lupin Summoned his mug of tea, nodding thoughtfully as he took a long drink. His eyes did not match the silent assurance he'd given her, but she had already turned away to tip the berries from the cutting board into a waiting bowl.

_She's never seen him duel,_ he thought with one corner of his mind, while in another, deeper corner, a larger thought rolled over uncomfortably, as though it were trying unsuccessfully to awaken from a disturbing dream.

Lupin frowned, swirling his tea in his mug as he reviewed what they'd learned at yesterday's meeting. _Ginny, Albus, Molly. Minerva. Hagrid. Childhood, fatherhood, motherhood... Childhood..._ He swirled his tea in the opposite direction, a frown growing on his face. _Childhood, fatherhood, motherhood... Draco?_ He reviewed his memories of Draco as a student and his frown deepened. _No; his thinking too shallow, too reactive._ His hand stilled, and he watched the tea slosh. _Someone with connections. Lucius?_ He shook his head. Lucius' prestige had slipped too far, after the Ministry incident. _Someone close, though. Very. Must be someone whom Voldemort trusts... who trusts no one, not without an ironclad - _BLAST

He set down his mug and slipped hastily out of the kitchen.

/x/

Minerva looked up from Hermione's notes when she heard the Floo. "Remus?" she said, hastening to the grate. "Is there a problem?"

"It's Snape, isn't it?" he asked her, his eyes clouded with the near-certainty of her answer.

"What-"

"Hermione's contact."

She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it, smoothing one hand on her robes.

"I haven't much time, Minerva – the others are in the kitchen. She's been working with Snape. Hasn't she?" His tone was flat, devoid of emotion.

Minerva glanced up – Dumbledore had appeared in the frame over the fireplace, out of Lupin's line of sight. He nodded once. "Come through, please, Remus," Minerva said, straightening stiffly and standing aside.

In a moment Lupin was dusting the soot off of his robes. He looked up, and Dumbledore smiled at him.

"Remus," the former headmaster nodded. "How wonderful to see you again. I trust you are well? And Nymphadora?"

"Very well, sir, thank you," Remus replied automatically, his eyes wide.

"There is much to explain, and little time. If you would be so good as to provide him with a chair, Minerva? He seems a little pale."

/x/

Tonks looked up in the kitchen, hearing the Floo. She peered around the corner into the living room and sighed. He had his reasons for doing things, and had lived so long alone that he never thought to explain them first.

This was mostly as she liked it, but there were times when she keenly wished it otherwise.

She returned to the kitchen. If the others hadn't heard his departure over the banging of pans and oven doors, or through the invisible barrier around the private universe surrounding Harry and Ginny, she wouldn't enlighten them.

She joined Harry and Ginny by the table. "You might want to stop glowing before Arthur comes down." She cocked a crooked smile at them. "Just a thought."

/x/

Dumbledore regarded Lupin calmly. "Did you never consider the possibility that Severus was acting on my orders?"

Lupin stared thoughtfully at the carved mantel. "I see now that I should have, of course," he began slowly, "but…" He opened his hands.

"Habits, once formed, do make for difficulties, I know." Dumbledore's tone was kind but there was a note in it of something firmer.

"I take your point, Albus," Remus said, shaking his head, his memories of the previous year still shifting, his judgments subtly realigning in his mind. "I will always have a bias against him, I am afraid – it is reflexive. But I hope that my judgment will remain unclouded."

"And that is the most that can be asked. Of _anyone_, Remus," Dumbledore said, a bit wistfully, perhaps, but also rather pointedly.

Remus nodded. "I shall speak with Molly and Arthur, of course, and Bill, I think?" He glanced the last question toward Dumbledore, who nodded. "The rest…"

"The Aurors need not have their obligations split further, Remus," Minerva said. "And words will never suffice for Alastor."

"And Hagrid?" he asked her.

Dumbledore answered for her. "I will speak to Hagrid myself, after the meeting."

"Any word on a workaround?" Remus asked apprehensively. He'd been worrying that in the back of his mind since the day before.

When Dumbledore and Minerva did not reply, he continued. "I have a thought… logistically complicated, of course, but it may buy us an advantage."

He outlined his thinking briefly, then turned to leave. "I have to get back."

"Not a word to Harry, Remus," Dumbledore told him as he reached for the Floo powder.

"Of course." A moment later, Remus was gone.

Minerva turned to Albus, a touch of concern in her eyes. "He doesn't have much time for reflection, Albus," she began. "Will it be enough?"

"He may not have been your quickest student, Minerva, but he remains one of the steadiest and best minds you have at your side. I trust him to act accordingly, in the end. Do you agree, Minerva?"

His question was a simple one, but Minerva's shoulders seemed to bear more weight as it hung in the air. Then she stood straighter, and nodded. "I do."

She returned to her office and set her elbows on the desk, steepling her fingers. Addressing the collection of former headmasters and headmistresses, she began, "So. We have a small logistical problem, on which we would welcome your collective wisdom and advice…"

As one, the portraits sat straighter. It was rare they were all called upon at once; without exception, they welcomed the break in the monotony.

/x/

Mrs. Black looked up, startled, at the vacuum where Phineas Nigellus had been a moment before. "Well," she cackled. "_That_ doesn't happen every day!"

Severus swung the door open from the kitchen and strode gracefully into the hall, his cloak flowing behind him. "What dosn't?" he asked, raising his coffee mug to his lips.

"Oooh, the bat looks pleased with himself today," Mrs. Black observed, peering at him with undisguised calculation. "Standing a little taller, are we?"

His eyes narrowed, but he flicked his eyebrows upwards, to the top of her frame. "Those of us who have that option are entitled to exercise it occasionally." His eyes sparkled wickedly. "Don't you agree?"

Mrs. Black sniffed.

"And how is my dear, departed cousin faring in the absence of her current sparring partner? I do hope you aren't suffering unduly from not being able to listen at the keyhole, so to speak?"

Mrs. Black looked at him sharply on hearing the word "cousin." "Not at all an accurate label, as you well know."

Severus smiled blandly.

"Oooh," she huffed.

His smile took a darker cast, and the glint in his eyes sharpened. "I have not, of course, had your idle decades to contemplate the wand-tip burns on your tapestry – a pastime called, I believe, 'connect the dots' by young Muggle children who for some reason find it an amusing diversion - but I have of course long been aware of the connection between your family and my mother's. 'Cousin' suffices for everyday conversation among civilized people. Or so I have heard," he finished nonchalantly, taking another sip of coffee.

Mrs. Black stared openly at him, then reached some decision. She nodded stiffly. "Cousin."

He bowed formally, his care not to spill his coffee adding just the right hint of mockery. "So. Phineas has been called to Hogwarts, has he?" His tone was casual but there was a guarded edge buried within it, an edge held within easy reach.

"A collective summons."

Severus sipped his coffee, but his mind was instantly working the possibilities. Nodding once to Mrs. Black, he placed his palm on the door and rejoined Hermione in the kitchen.

She looked up at him from over the plate of scones she had just retrieved from the hearth. "What is it?" she asked, sitting at the table.

"Minerva is conferencing with all of the former Heads of Hogwarts." He did not sit.

Hermione's hand hovered over the plate. "What does that mean, exactly?"

He didn't answer, but walked to the window, sipping his coffee carefully. Hermione's eyes followed him, a look of apprehension growing on her face.

Tracking Tayet as she bothered the butterflies, he said, "I'm not certain." He turned to glance at Hermione. Seeing her hand still poised over the scones, he said, "You may as well eat, Hermione."

She nodded, choosing a scone. "No porridge this morning, I see," she said, attempting to divert herself from the present uncertainty. "Enough scones for…"

Her hand froze again, and her eyes grew wide as she turned to him.

He nodded slowly.

"So she… so they… Minerva…" Hermione's mind flew, settling on the unhelpful realization that at this moment she had no idea what to do with her hands.

"It seems so," he said, unmoving.

"Oh, dear," she said. "Oh, dear."

Severus did not say anything, but his lips firmed in a determined line.

"So they know," Hermione said, her tone growing fierce.

"Not everyone, certainly," he said evenly.

"No, of course not. Not Harry… nor Ron, Ginny, nor Fred and George, Charlie, maybe…" her eyes flicked from scone to scone as she considered the lines of communication within the Order. "And how much? Severus, how much do they know?"

He sighed and leaned against the windowsill. Tayet had alighted on a lily frond and was eyeing a beetle hungrily. He watched the phoenix for a few moments before turning once again to Hermione. She was still looking at him, awaiting his answer, a dangerous glint growing in her eyes.

"Hermione," he said carefully, "Do you really think that Molly Weasley would send breakfast for me if she as much as suspected the possibility that I might serve it to you in bed?"

Hermione gulped a small amount of air, then hiccoughed. "No," she began, "… no, I suppose not." The glint in her eye deepened. "It's an interesting thought, though." She straightened in her chair and reached for a scone.

Severus looked at her for a moment, uncertain whether the direction of her mood would change again. When he was certain that it would not, he chuckled. "Indeed."

In the garden, Tayet drew herself to her full height, unfurled her wings silently, and pounced.


	52. Reflections

A/N: A special thank you to my readers, for leaving such inspiring reviews. (Colleen, good luck with your move!) A flourish of the quill to Anastasia/TTFS, who patiently awaits the return of tag!fic. (We're working on a new multi-chaptered story under the combined penname "Anastadne.")

* * *

**Reflections**

_In the garden, Tayet drew herself to her full height, unfurled her wings silently, and pounced._

"… and, of course, after much hemming and hawing, everyone finally agreed that it's the only way to accomplish it. Took the Hufflepuffs forever to decide, of course. Not one creative thinker among the lot of them," Phineas Nigellus sniffed, flicking a bit of flaked paint off of his sleeve.

Severus looked distinctly paler as he finished speaking, but nodded.

"And…" Phineas Nigellus sounded hesitant, and both Mrs. Black and Hermione looked at him expectantly. "And… they don't know everything about the two of you. Just that you're working together."

Mrs. Black looked disappointed, but Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

Severus merely nodded and swept out of the hall.

Phineas Nigellus regarded Hermione evenly for a moment. "All of the Ravenclaws and most of the Slytherins will figure it out eventually, of course, what with that dratted songbird flitting about. You're prepared to lose everything, are you?"

Hermione glanced up and nodded.

He smirked. "Great Merlin, girl, I'm not only talking about death." He turned to Mrs. Black. "Gryffindors are so noble it makes my teeth ache."

"You're dead. Your teeth can't ache," Mrs. Black said crisply, but her heavy robes rustled as she shifted uneasily.

"That one," he cocked his head in the direction of the library, where Hermione could see Severus seated at the table, refreshing the ink in his quill. "He reminds me of someone."

"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked politely, inwardly racing through a similar set of variables to the ones Severus was, even now, sketching out on his parchment.

"Focused single-mindedly on books and magical theory and subtle plots and stratagems until he finally met his match."

"And then?" Hermione said cautiously, having had too much experience with Slytherins to expect any easy analogies.

"Then it got worse."

She waited for him to continue.

"That one's marked you as his, girl. Live or die, he's not prepared to let you go. Are you prepared to be a ghost?"

"Of course not." Hermione's skin crawled at the thought.

"Then see to it you leave no business unfinished," he concluded sharply. His gaze was pointed, but seemed to soften. "Perhaps you've not noticed, but something's changed. If you both die, he will hesitate. You, I think, will not."

Hermione shook her head emphatically.

"He would not have hesitated, before." He regarded her seriously. "It might have been better to leave him in despair."

Mrs. Black nodded, picking at a loose bead on her reticule.

"Phineas," Hermione said, with some trepidation, "what happened to that wizard you were speaking of?"

"Still rattling around Hogwarts, of course."

"And what about whoever his 'match' was?"

"She didn't stay."

"I see."

Phineas leaned toward Hermione. "No, you don't, girl, not really, although you should."

Mrs. Black looked at him sharply.

"I don't follow," Hermione said simply.

He gestured her closer to the canvas. She stepped forward, bringing her ear up to where his hand was waiting.

Into her ear, so quietly that Severus could not hear through the archway, he whispered, "Binns."

Hermione jerked away from the canvas. "That," she declared firmly, "will _not_ happen."

Mrs. Black spoke up sharply. "And if you live? Are you prepared to lose everything if you live?"

"I'm sorry, I really don't follow," Hermione said, still trying to reconcile Severus with her image of the desiccated History of Magic teacher.

"No more should you," Mrs. Black said.

Phineas Nigellus started to argue, but Mrs. Black held up her hand and spoke on. "Does you a credit that you don't." She glanced at Phineas Nigellus. "Upstairs."

He made to protest, but she glared at him. "Death comes to everyone, but life is witches' business. Go on."

He drew his cloak about him and left her frame.

"Child, you can't know," Mrs. Black began, all acid dropped from her tone. "Wizards are… different. Should you live through this – and as you've no portrait here, I will admit to hoping that you do..."

Hermione's eyes widened.

Mrs. Black cackled. "Much more interesting with another witch about."

Hermione raised her eyebrow.

"Should you live through this, what do you imagine will happen?"

"I- I'll finish school, of course. I had thought to work for the Ministry," her eyes hardened briefly, "but perhaps I'll teach, eventually, or research… Tayet proposes so many fascinating questions…"

"And do you imagine this - you and he - can continue outside these walls?" Mrs. Black asked quietly.

Hermione's thoughts stopped dead. "Oh."

"And then there's himself," Mrs. Black said, once again rubbing the loose bead between her fingers, glancing up at Hermione. "He'd face a trial, almost certainly."

"Not 'almost,'" Severus remarked dryly from the archway. "Just 'certainly.'"

Hermione turned and her breath caught at the sight of him leaning, arms crossed casually, tall and black against the dark wood of the arch. "Do they allow portrait testimony?" she asked at once.

He nodded. "In extreme circumstances, yes."

She twisted her lips wryly. "I'd say that applies here." The dryness in her tone matched his own.

"I have no worries about a trial, Hermione," he said.

"Yes, because you don't plan to survive, do you?" Her eyes snapped darkly at him.

He had no answer for a long time, and she stood, eyes blazing at him. He returned her look coolly. "Should I live to stand trial, Hermione, I shall in all likelihood be exonerated."

"How can you be certain?"

"I can't be," he said, "but it stands to reason that if I do face a trial I will have played a rather obvious role in the downfall of the Dark Lord. Do not underestimate the gratitude of those who can't think for themselves."

Her eyes narrowed.

"My reputation shall never be unshadowed," he said quietly, "but then, it never has been."

"Well, then," Hermione stated with an air of finality, raising her chin. "It's a good thing I've no longer any ambition toward politics." She nodded at Mrs. Black, and swept past Severus into the library.

Severus stayed leaning against the archway, looking slightly puzzled.

Mrs. Black smiled with acid sweetness, gesturing with her head toward the library, where Hermione was already seating herself at the table and drawing Severus' notes toward her, "That one's marked you as hers, young man. Are you prepared to live?"

He looked at her, unblinking.

"Nice braid," she commented, and cackled again. Underneath the habitual malice in her laughter, however, Severus caught a note of satisfaction that had nothing to do with her personality or her House.

His eyes took on a speculative look.

"Severus," Hermione called quietly. "Would you mind explaining these notations? Your handwriting appears to have regressed…"

He nodded once at Mrs. Black, and joined Hermione in the library.

/x/

After an interval of a quarter of an hour, Phineas Nigellus rejoined Mrs. Black. "That was no Slytherin laugh I heard."

Mrs. Black sniffed. "Of course not. Are you daft?"

He looked at her inquiringly.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Wizards."

And Phineas Nigellus received no further satisfaction from her.

/x/

Minerva nodded to the elder Weasleys and Lupin as they sat in the office.

"We don't have much time before Tonks and Moody arrive with the children," Molly said, settling more comfortably in her chair. "Kingsley's coming straight from home, I think?"

Minerva nodded.

"I've told them who she's working with, Minerva," Lupin said quietly, "but not about who else knows."

Minerva looked at the Order and stood. "I am afraid that I am about to ask something very grave of all of you," she began, and Arthur reached instinctively for Molly's hand. Eyeing his movement, Minerva smiled a bit. "No, Arthur, nothing nearly that dire. Merely that all of you keep yet another secret from the rest of our members."

Glancing at Lupin, who was resting a finger against his temple, Arthur nodded. Molly and Bill echoed without hesitation.

"You know that Miss Granger's source – the source of information that enabled her to ascertain the requirements of the Horcruxes but to subvert many of them – is Severus Snape."

Everyone nodded, and it was to their credit, or perhaps to Minerva's choice regarding her audience, that everyone seemed willing to remain open-minded.

"His was the information that provided you, Molly, with the warning."

"I hadn't thought to question it, Minerva, what with… well, everything that happened that night," Molly said, eyes gleaming. "He was there… but since Remus told us, I've been replaying the scene – I can't quite see anything else in my mind, really – and what you say makes sense. He deflected my spell easily – well, of course he did – but played it to his advantage… no, to our side's advantage, using it as an excuse to angle his Shield spell to protect not only himself, but Hermione."

Bill nodded slowly, as if seeing the scene in his mind. Lupin closed his eyes briefly.

"I never would have realized it, of course, had Remus not told us this morning…" Molly sat back in her chair, looking somewhat amazed.

Arthur patted her hand with his free one, and made a sound Minerva took for agreement.

"Very well," Minerva said, distractedly, lining a quill up on her desk. "As we've very little time…"

"Good morning," Dumbledore said from the wall.

Three red heads spun around and looked up at him.

"What a pleasure to see you all again."

"You… you're awake!" Bill blurted, then blushed, then grinned.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, I am awake indeed. And was quite pleased to see that your Arithmancy talents have not fallen off since you left Hogwarts. Rapid thinking, to discern the attack patterns. I'm sure Miss Granger was grateful for your quick insight."

Bill nodded, still grinning.

Molly's hand was at her chest, and Arthur's mouth was open slightly.

"Molly, Arthur," Dumbledore nodded at both of them, and they recovered enough to nod in return.

"All this time…?" Molly managed to speak.

Arthur and Bill both saw in her face the signs of an imminent lecture, and opened their mouths to divert it, but Dumbledore merely smiled serenely. "I shall explain much, given time, Molly, but for now it must suffice that you all understand that Severus was acting on my orders, that it was only through his intervention that I survived the Horcrux Indemnity for that last year, and that he has been assisting Miss Granger in an attempt to avert tremendous losses to the Order and to hasten the timing to our advantage."

Bill nodded instantly, and his parents followed suit. Lupin swept his hands over his eyes and said nothing, but sat straighter.

"It is crucial, absolutely crucial," Dumbledore continued placidly, "that Harry be aware neither of my alertness nor of Severus' involvement."

"Of course, sir," Bill said.

"As you wish, of course, Albus, but," Arthur stammered. "But may we ask why?"

"It's obvious, Dad." Bill turned to his parents. "If Harry knows that Professor Dumbledore is awake, the first thing he will ask will be about Professor Snape. And if he knows Professor Snape is still on our side…"

"He is no longer a professor," Lupin reminded him.

Bill shot him a glance, but continued, "… then Harry will be sure to betray him. Even if by some miracle he sets his own loathing for him aside, he'll betray him accidentally. Voldemort hasn't survived this long by being blind."

"No, of course not, son," Arthur said, a note of determination entering his voice. "He's done so by destroying his own soul. That cannot be allowed. It cannot." Turning to Dumbledore's portrait, he asked, "On that score, Albus - " he could not repress a smile at the sheer pleasure of conversing with him again " - what are we to do about the remaining Horcruxes?"

Lupin shifted in his chair and glanced at Minerva.

"We shall discuss that when the others arrive, I think," she said. She had been observing the Weasleys and was well-gratified to see the change in their demeanor. Yesterday, before they knew about Severus' continued allegiance, they had seemed only grimly determined. Now, with Dumbledore awake and speaking, they appeared almost hopeful.

"Before they do," Dumbledore cautioned, "I must ask you to keep the information regarding Severus' involvement a secret not only from Harry, but from Alastor, at well." He looked at Remus. "You may, if you wish, tell Nymphadora after the meeting; Minerva, if you would be so good as to inform Kingsley at the same time?"

She nodded.

"Why Mad-Eye?" Arthur asked.

"Because it is essential that Severus retain at least one enemy on our side, Arthur. Someone who is not Harry."

There was a moment of silence, which was broken by Bill's slow, appreciative whistle. _Damn, the man is subtle._ His grin broadened. If Dumbledore thought they had enough of a chance to play the equation that far ahead, then Bill felt very optimistic indeed.

/x/

Hermione looked from the parchment to Severus and exhaled slowly. "Do you think Remus' plan will work?"

"It is likely to circumvent the Indemnity required by Nagini." he said.

Her eyes narrowed at his careful wording. "There's more."

He set down his quill and rubbed his eyes. "Yes."

She didn't move.

He leaned his forehead on his fist. His knuckles were white.

"What?"

Raising his face to press his fist to his lips, his eyes moving rapidly, calculating, assessing, recalculating, he said nothing.

Hermione waited.

Finally, he sat straighter. For a moment she was hopeful, but when he closed his eyes and raised his fingers to his temples, her heart gave a heavy beat and seemed ready to choke her.

"What, Severus, what is-" she began, but stopped when she saw the look on his face.

"The timing, Hermione. It's going to wreak havoc with the timing." His voice was almost inaudible.

"But the timing…" her voice faltered, and she looked at him. "That's what's supposed to keep us alive long enough to give Harry… "

It was the first real fear he had seen on her face since he had closed his hand around her throat some nights before. He closed his eyes.

"Can you still control the timing?" she whispered, gesturing to the parchment. "With such a variable as that… ?"

She watched him carefully.

He was rapidly assessing his own abilities against a set of variables that were now exponentially more complicated as they were no longer merely chaotic, but random. He knew that they would face better odds by sacrificing Hagrid. She knew it too, on some level, but… He forced his eyes to open, to still, to calm, forced his body to relax as though he'd found a possible solution.

"Can you?" she whispered again, more hopefully.

He wanted to lie to her. It was on his lips.

But instead he found himself reaching for her, drawing her to him, pressing his lips to hers before the lie could escape them. "No. No, I can't. Not with any certainty."

She flinched as though she'd been struck. "Okay," she said. _Breathe, Granger. Just breathe._ It was her usual mantra when faced with rising panic. Another part of her mind added, _While you still can._ "Oh, shut it!" she snapped, and Severus drew back, startled. "Oh, not you; it's my mind." She raked her fingers into her hair. _Logic. Logic and reason. When in doubt, trust Dumbledore._

"Dumbledore must have agreed, yes?"

"Phineas!" Severus called, hastening into the hall. "What did Albus say to Lupin's idea?"

Phineas regarded him coolly. "Took you long enough." He turned to Mrs. Black. "Pay up."

Without fanfare, Severus raised his wand to the canvas.

Mrs. Black tossed two Sickles at Phineas Nigellus and vacated the frame.

"What did he say, Phineas?"

Phineas looked at him, unflinching. "That he thought it was a daft idea, of course."

Hermione, who had followed hard on Severus' heels, stepped back. "What?"

Phineas Nigellus held up his hand. "Just daft enough to work."

Hermione turned to Severus. "I hate this. I really hate this." She turned back to Phineas Nigellus. "And I think I hate you, too."

Severus nodded grimly, his wand at Phineas Nigellus' throat.

"Oh, put that away," she snapped. Mrs. Black!" she called up the stairs. "It's safe to come back now." Hermione went into the kitchen.

Mrs. Black reappeared in time to see Severus and Phineas Nigellus blink at each other for a moment before Severus lowered his wand. She cackled.

Severus followed Hermione.

She was standing with her hand on the Floo powder container, her back to him, looking at the hearth. "I can advise them to ignore Remus' solution," she said slowly. "To sacrifice Hagrid for the…" She closed her eyes. "… for the larger purpose."

"You could," he agreed, his voice giving no hint as to his preference.

"They'd never believe that was my advice."

"No."

"They'd assume it came from you."

"Indeed."

"Hagrid would insist that we ignore Remus' solution, if he knew."

"He would."

She was silent for a moment, not turning around. Then – "Our chances are worse, with Remus' plan."

_Not mine, Hermione. Just yours._ Aloud, he said, "Yes." It was truthful enough.

"And Harry's?"

"It is difficult to say."

"And if we live, I'll always wonder if it was because - "

He hesitated, then continued in the same toneless voice, "This is war, Hermione. Some of them would understand that."

"Some, but not all."

"Not all," he agreed.

"Hagrid would."

Tayet flew in through the window and landed on the table. "Squeep?" she said softly.

They turned to look at her, the tear on Severus' braid catching a stray ray of light, glinting into Hermione's eyes.

She shut them reflexively, and said, "I'll ask Dumbledore - "

"You won't have a chance before the meeting, Hermione."

"Before the next one, then?"

He said nothing, glancing at the mist beyond the garden wall. He could see forms within it, taking shape. "There won't be a next meeting, Hermione."

"Severus," she turned to him, only to find herself in his arms, his hands on her face, smoothing her hair away from her forehead.

"Hermione, hear me. I will do everything in my power within whatever framework the Order decides. It has always been thus. But if there is a way…"

She clutched his robes in her fists.

"If there is a way, I will find it."

"But - "

"And if there isn't, we shall make one." He kissed her softly, tipping her chin up with his finger.

"After all," he said.

She opened her eyes to find him gazing at her calmly.

He traced her eyebrow with a gentle finger. "We have before."

She looked up at him and nodded, turning to reach for the Floo powder. "What shall I tell them?"

"Tell Minerva that I shall probably be called to make a report to the Dark Lord late tonight, or perhaps early tomorrow morning, and that she should assemble the Order. If Nagini is nearby, I will call you to join me. You will Apparate there separately, after providing Minerva with the location."

"And then?"

"And then it ends. One way or another."

She froze, then nodded.

A moment later, he stood alone in the kitchen, his head bowed, his hand coming up to rest on the mantel. He was turning the two-way mirror slowly in his fingers.

"Whirp?" Tayet watched the shiny thing in his hand catch a flash of sunlight, and disappear into shadow, and flash again. "Whirp?" She craned her neck to follow the bits of light it reflected around the kitchen.

Then the light went away. No more flashes, although he kept turning it.

Tayet sang a soft, worried note as the mist outside thinned, condensing into shapes. Already they had substance enough to cast hungry shadows over the garden wall.


	53. Silence

A/N: Congratulations to my partner-in-crime for her major achievement.

* * *

**Silence**

_Tayet sang a soft, worried note as the mist outside thinned, condensing into shapes. Already they had substance enough to cast hungry shadows over the garden wall._

At the sound of the Floo from the chamber off the headmistress' office, all conversation ceased, and all heads turned.

Coming into the office, Hermione paused at the sight of Bill, Arthur, and, after a hesitation, Lupin, all standing at her entrance. Her eyes widened a little at their new formality, but however disconcerting that was, it was nothing to feeling five pairs of questioning eyes fixed on her.

At first the intensity of their gaze was undifferentiated, collective. She drew herself straighter and met each pair of eyes in turn, reading in them varying degrees of surprise, concern, confusion, and, from Lupin, a kind of shuttered reserve that seemed to resonate with something she preferred not to think about just then. She turned last to Bill Weasley, whose regard was calm, tinged with respect. When she met his gaze, he nodded once, and smiled slightly.

_Well, then,_ she thought, and, drawing her chin up a little higher than perhaps was strictly necessary, she announced, "As you see, I am perfectly well."

"No, no, dear…" Molly began, but Bill cut her off, saying seriously, "Of course you are. Thank you, again, Hermione. Forgive me for not seeing it sooner?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment, then recovered herself, nodded and took a seat. Only then did the wizards sit. _Okay… strange… breathe… _She turned a questioning look to the headmistress, who appeared to have been quite as surprised by the show of respect as she herself had been.

"Only those here currently know of your… work, with…" She closed her eyes briefly, then finished, "… with Severus."

Hermione's face revealed neither her trepidation at the headmistress' hesitation nor relief at her concluding words.

"They also," she continued, "are aware that Albus is awake and able to advise us. Remus will be informing Tonks, and I, Kingsley, after the meeting. Albus will inform Hagrid personally, and asks that neither Harry nor Alastor Moody be informed."

Hermione's mind raced again. "So Harry, Ginny, Ron…"

Arthur finished for her. "None of the other children will be told. It's too much, to ask them to hide anything from Harry."

Bill shifted slightly, raising his eyebrows, and Arthur turned to him, smiling. "Sorry, son."

Bill waved a hand in a gesture that was both amused and tolerant, but asked, "Charlie?"

All of the Weasleys turned to Dumbledore's portrait.

"That is, of course, up to you, Arthur, Molly," Dumbledore said.

The parents exchanged a glance, and Hermione saw Molly's lips twist in benevolent admission. "He can't keep a thing from the twins, I'm afraid. And they – well…"

Bill nodded. "Right. Okay, then."

Throughout this exchange, Minerva had been watching Remus. There was something too casual about how he'd not looked at Hermione since she'd entered. Her lips thinned slightly. "Miss Granger, do you have further information for us, before the others arrive?"

Hermione nodded, and adopted her usual classroom posture as she turned to address everyone. "He - " she closed her mouth, and turned to Minerva. "I'm sorry – I don't know which form of address is appropriate, now that…" She gestured involuntarily toward Dumbledore's portrait.

"'Severus' will suffice, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said calmly.

Only Minerva noticed some change in Remus' air that indicated he had paid rather close attention to Hermione's tone and manner.

"Yes, sir," Hermione continued. "Severus believes he will be called to report to Voldemort tonight, or perhaps early tomorrow morning. Once he has ascertained Nagini's presence, he will inform me of the location, which I shall then communicate to you. He asks that you have the Order assembled, ready to Apparate," she finished, quietly.

Arthur pressed Molly's hand, and Bill dropped his head slightly, glancing up at his parents. Lupin did not move.

Minerva placed her palms on the edge of her desk, but otherwise betrayed no reaction to the probable imminence of the confrontation.

After a moment in which Remus' eyes stayed fixed straight ahead, he turned to Minerva. "Logistics?"

Minerva nodded. "We have solved that particular problem. I will prepare two untargeted Portkeys this afternoon, as well as one for each Order member, targeted to the hospital wing." She swept her hand to include the assembled portraits, all of whom were wide awake. "We all believe it will suffice."

Hermione looked up in time to see Phineas Nigellus slip out of his frame. A glance at Bill told her he had also seen the movement; he gave her another small smile.

Remus nodded, and, dropping his eyes to his knees, said nothing further.

/x/

"Untargeted Portkeys," Phineas Nigellus said to Mrs. Black, then disappeared again.

"Young man!" she called.

There was no response from the kitchen.

She called again, and, although she waited longer, she again received no response.

Finally, she snorted. "Cousin."

The kitchen door swung open, and Severus appeared, turning the mirror in his fingers.

"Untargeted Portkeys."

"Plural?"

She nodded, glancing at him apprehensively.

He closed his eyes briefly, then nodded once, sharply, turning back to the kitchen.

His hands on the mirror had stilled.

/x/

Hermione felt the mirror in her pocket grow warm. For reasons she didn't fully understand, she angled herself toward the headmistress' desk before slipping her hand toward it.

_"Hermione."_

He received the impression of a question without words, and pressed on. _"The untargeted Portkeys - Phineas heard the plural correctly?"_

_"Yes,"_ she thought, and the contact was broken, but not before Hermione felt, more than heard, the sound of shattering glass. She closed her eyes.

Minerva was rising to greet the rest of the Order as they arrived. Hermione forced herself to stand, to go through the motions of greeting Harry and Ron.

"All right, Hermione?" Ron asked, glancing sideways at Harry with an expression Hermione couldn't fathom. She'd never seen Ron look… _speculative? Ron? Surely not… _

If her inability to read Ron was a surprise to her, it was nothing to the surprise she felt when she met Harry's eyes. Her "Good morning" died on her lips, and instead, she found herself taking a step back, saying only "Harry?"

"Hermione," he nodded grimly.

Where before she had only ever seen the reactive emotions of a child – anger, fear, determination in response to a new adversity – there was instead a force of personality that she'd seen matched by only one other. She caught her breath and said again, "Harry?" tilting her head slightly in question.

He held her gaze and nodded, the ghost of a grin lurking in his eyes.

Hermione wasn't sure, and she didn't check, but she thought she heard a slow exhale from the direction of Dumbledore's portrait. Her face broke into a pleased grin, and Harry nodded, returning her smile.

There was no mirth in Harry's smile.

None at all.

Hermione was reassured.

As she moved back to her seat, she felt more than heard something shift in the Order. Some relaxed. Some came to a heightened level of focus. She had no idea how she knew, but she knew, without looking at their faces, that Minerva, Bill, Lupin, and the Aurors had taken the exchange between herself and Harry as some kind of signal – that they were already psychologically drawing themselves into a battle line, a bastion behind Harry _and behind herself, and behind Severus, those of them who knew… _She knew, too, that Arthur and Ron were confused by something, and that Molly was, somehow, smug about something – the same something that confused Arthur and Ron.

These impressions lasted no more than a moment, but of them, of their accuracy and rectitude, she was certain.

Then she felt the mirror in her pocket cool. Her hand was back on it in a flash. _"Oh, no you don't. And you'd best not be destroying the kitchen again."_

She received an impression of anger of such flaring intensity that it nearly burned her fingers, followed by a sense of ruthless self-control, followed, finally, by Severus' words in her mind. _"What just happened?"_

Through gritted teeth – if her mind had teeth, and just then she was fairly sure it did – she thought, _"I just saw Harry."_

A startled feeling.

_"What answer were you expecting? And what did you break? And why do I have the feeling that you're spying on everyone in this room?"_

_"Because I _am_. Keep your hand on the mirror."_

Hermione scowled mentally. _"Heil."_

A bark of laughter rang in her mind. There was no mirth in it, but she felt some of his tension dissipate as she heard the Floo in Minerva's chambers, signaling Kingsley's arrival. Before he entered the office, the outer door swung open, and Hagrid entered, carrying his crossbow.

Minerva rose instantly. "Hagrid, is there a pro-"

"Nah, Headmistress, I jes' like ter…" Hagrid waved the crossbow aimlessly, looking dazed, and the sentence hung unfinished as everyone in the room froze, unsure whether to look at him, at the crossbow pointing carelessly from his hand, or at something, anything else.

At that moment, Kingsley entered, brushing ash and soot off of his robes. "Sorry if I'm a bit late. The Prime Minister…" He heard the quality of silence in the office, and stopped, his sweeping hand frozen mid-gesture.

Everyone was looking at Hagrid, and Hermione saw his eyes flick to each member of the Order in turn.

Minerva. Molly. Ron.

_Oh, gods - Harry. He's going to break down completely when he gets to Harry._

Her poise crumbled and she was across the office and hugging him fiercely, her arms not reaching even halfway around him. "Hagrid, it's okay; there's a way. It's going to be okay."

His large hand had come up to pat her head awkwardly, and it stilled on her head.

She looked up at him. He was looking across the room, but she knew he wasn't really seeing whatever was in front of him.

"Hagrid," she said again, softly. "Hagrid, did you hear me? It's going to be okay."

He blinked, and cleared his throat, and then a rumble started somewhere in his chest that began as a laugh, and finished as, "I knew yeh could do it, Hermione!"

She found herself swept off her feet into a fierce, rib-bruising hug that was mostly beard and slightly musty-smelling. She tried to speak, to tell him no, it wasn't her, but she couldn't draw enough air to make a sound.

"Hagrid! Have a care!" Minerva said, her voice sounding choked.

"Righ'!" he said, happily, placing Hermione none too gently back on her feet, thumping her soundly on the shoulder.

Hermione winced as she felt something in her shoulder pop, but she struggled to get enough breath to say, "It wasn't me, Hagrid. It wasn't me."

Eyes sparkling, he beamed down at her.

Still not certain he was registering her words, she stepped back, her hand on her shoulder, and said, "It was Lupin."

Remus stood slowly, and the quality of silence changed again as Hermione found herself looking straight into the eyes of the only living member of another group of friends, a group so very like her own.

Her stomach grew cold and she thrust her hands firmly into her pockets.

_"What? What is it, Hermione?"_

Remus shook his head slowly, and turned to Hagrid.

Ron, whose face had erupted in an enormous grin at the news, shot a look at first Harry, then Hermione, but neither met his eye. Harry was smiling, but not as broadly as Ron thought he should be, and Hermione's smile seemed… sad? Resigned? His grin faded slightly, and he glanced at Bill.

Bill gave him a small, enigmatic smile and put a hand on his shoulder, but said nothing.

_"Hermione?"_

Moving back to her seat, Hermione allowed her hair to fall between her face and the rest of the Order. _"I… I've just told Hagrid everything is going to be okay."_

Her thought was a whisper in his mind, and his own was fiercely gentle in return.

There were no words for it.

The moment was brief.

_And… Lupin. He's…"_ she began.

_"Lupin?"_ he asked.

_"He doesn't feel right."_

An assessing silence. Then, _"'Feel'?"_

Before she could stop herself, she nodded. Her hair fell away from her face, and she looked up hurriedly, but only Ron was looking at her.

Grinning, he tilted his head toward Hagrid, who had uncocked his crossbow and was setting it down on a table, Remus' hand still on his elbow.

Moody, whose magical eye had been clicking over everyone, traveled from Ron to Hagrid to Remus.

"I'm glad for it, Hagrid," Remus was saying. "It's risky, of course, but it definitely flips the odds in our favor."

"And anything that does that is happy news indeed," said Arthur, rising to join the other men at the table.

_Happy… _Hermione's mind echoed. _Happy._ She swallowed hard, blinking fiercely. _Oh, gods._

Moody's eye clicked over to Hermione as she ran her free hand through her hair and rubbed her thumb on the mirror.

_"I heard, Hermione. I heard."_ The reassurance in Severus' mental tone did not match the steel that came through, sharp and hard.

_"It's nothing. It's fine. I'm fine."_

_"Breathe, Hermione. Lupin. Back to Lupin."_

_"He knows. I'm nearly certain of it."_

_"More probably, he suspects."_ A tarnished malice, quickly mastered. _"Pay it no heed. He'll put it aside, for now."_

Minerva called the meeting to order, and Lupin joined Tonks on the far side of the office as Arthur rejoined Molly. Kingsley seated himself near Hermione, and Hagrid stayed near the door.

Ron could not stop smiling, but Moody's magical eye remained firmly fixed on Hermione.

If it could have narrowed, it would have.

As it couldn't, not even Bill Weasley noticed.

Minerva summarized Hermione's report and outlined Remus' plan to avoid the Indemnity required by the Horcrux in Voldemort's snake.

"So we shall all assemble at Hogwarts this evening and await Hermione's message regarding the location. I will target the Portkeys for Hagrid and Grawp, and the rest of us will Apparate. Hagrid, your obvious mission is to destroy the snake, and I believe we may trust Remus' assumption that Grawp will, quite instinctively, do everything possible to protect you. Once the snake is killed, Hagrid, and you must make Grawp understand this… " she looked at him pointedly, every inch the commanding teacher.

Hagrid nodded, his eyes determined. " 'E's smart, Minerva. I'll explain it to 'im."

Ron and Harry exchanged dark glances, and Hermione bristled. Moody's eye remained immobile.

"… he is to get you as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. Nothing more."

_"Which he would likely do anyway,"_ Hermione thought fleetingly, sensing Severus' nod. They had agreed, in Grimmauld Place, that the merit of Lupin's plan lay in its capitalizing on Grawp's one guiding principle. Useless as a weapon, Grawp nonetheless displayed an unshakable loyalty to his half-brother. Hermione had insisted it was out of love; Severus that it was, more likely, animal instinct.

They'd put the debate aside. There hadn't been time.

Minerva's voice seemed to falter slightly. "There being no way to predict how many Death Eaters will be present, it is to be hoped that the element of surprise will prevent Voldemort from being able to call any of the more fearsome creatures at his command. I believe the trapping spell Miss Granger alluded to… ?" She looked at Hermione.

_"Look at each of them in turn, Hermione."_

She looked at Minerva – _clear-eyed, proud_ - then at Hagrid – _misty, solid_ – "It will, in all probability, not affect Grawp, and perhaps not Hagrid, although there is no way to know for sure."

"No way to test it, is there?" Kingsley rumbled.

Looking at Kingsley – _stanch, calm_ – Hermione simply said, "No." She looked at Moody, who leaned forward in his chair.

Then at Tonks – _taut, coiled_ - who shifted uneasily, glancing at Lupin, who turned to look up to where Tonks stood behind his chair. Tonks' eyes widened as she saw his expression, and she raised her eyebrows slightly.

He shook his head – the smallest movement.

Tonks sighed. She would have to drag it out of him later, she knew. She returned her attention to Hermione, who was looking toward the Weasleys as she continued to address them all.

"The spell will be cast once you have all Apparated, which should be immediately after Hagrid and Grawp arrive." Looking at Bill -

"'You'?" Remus asked quietly.

Hermione turned to face him and nodded.

"You will not be Apparating with us, then?" he continued, in the same quiet voice.

_"Careful, Hermione."_ A deadly, silken whisper.

"No. I - " she glanced at Minerva, whose posture was rigidly alert – more at Lupin, she thought, than at herself. "I will already be there," she finished, lifting her chin.

Moody's eye clicked once.

"And how is that?" Remus asked, his tone carefully neutral. Tonks, Bill, and Harry all looked at him more closely.

Hermione matched his tone, regarding him evenly. "How else would you know the location?"

"Surely your source could convey the information to you as easily were you to remain here, at Hogwarts, than if you were to Apparate from another location?"

_"Severus?"_ she thought, not taking her eyes from Remus'.

_"The best lies contain some truth."_

_"Lovely."_ She smiled slightly. "Voldemort already knows about me."

A shockwave rippled over the Order - even Remus was taken slightly aback.

Behind his mask of sleep, Dumbledore smiled sadly. _Brava, Hermione._

"It was necessary to maintain contact. Were I to arrive with the rest of you, his position would be immediately compromised."

"Malfoy," muttered Harry, glancing at Ron, who nodded.

"So," Remus said, somewhat grudgingly, "I assume that your source will cast the trapping spell?"

Hermione nodded. "By itself, the casting shouldn't unmask him – which may be to our advantage; at least, I hope it will…" She was talking too fast and she knew it. She paused for a steadying breath, and, looking finally to Harry, continued. "But the timing will have to be precise, else Voldemort may flee."

Everyone nodded, except Ron. "This spell," he said. "What's it called, exactly?"

Hermione smiled sadly. "_Foris Clausa_, Ron. It's a foreclosure spell. Once it's cast, no witch or wizard may cross its boundaries until its… until it's over."

_Saved by an apostrophe,_ she thought wildly, fleetingly grateful that her near-slip had been inaudible, as the Order broke into discussion amongst themselves, the Aurors moving to stand together, doubtless considering possible tactics.

The attention of the group diverted for a moment, she sighed inwardly.

_"'Saved by an apostrophe?'"_ came Severus' thought.

_"I almost let it slip - the terms of the spell – its conditions – what you'll have to –"_

_"Focus."_

_"Stop distracting me, then!"_

A moment later, she could have sworn she felt eyelashes brush her fingers, and she drew a shuddering breath.

The Aurors broke apart, and Kingsley addressed the group. "We'll obviously have to be flexible – no way to predict what we'll find when we get there. Bill, Tonks, Moody, Minerva, and I will take the offensive, if possible; the rest of you will shield and step in as necessary."

Hermione watched as the implications of those last words reshaped Ron's reality.

Kingsley saw it, too. "And you, lad," he began, his tone gruff, but kind.

Ron blushed at being directly addressed.

"Your job is to stick to his back," Kingsley nodded toward Harry, who had been sitting silently throughout.

Ron nodded. "I will."

"And don't let anything get past you."

"Yes, sir."

Molly paled, but the look on her face was proud.

Harry turned to Molly and said, "Ginny."

Molly's eyes widened slightly, and she went, if anything, even paler. Then she closed her eyes and nodded.

Arthur started to speak, but she placed her hand slowly on his.

It was a silent gesture, but it was enough. He swallowed hard, and, looking from his wife to Harry, finally nodded.

Harry sat silently for a moment, then turned to Hermione. "The last Indemnity, Hermione. The one for my scar. Is it… it's you, isn't it?

As Hermione's gaze crossed the few feet between them, it carried six years along with it. A smudge of dirt on Ron's nose, a chess game. A vase of faded flowers by her hospital bed. Ducking under branches into a dark tunnel, bringing him toast by the lake, and a broken bowl of Mertlap Essence. His shielding her from Cormac McLaggen at Professor Slughorn's party.

Dumbledore's funeral.

Threatening the Dursleys with a made-up spell.

He didn't need to hear her answer.


	54. Echoes

A/N: A low and very humble bow to Melenka, Luna, and Anastasia, who were with me as I bled this chapter.

* * *

**Echoes**

_As Hermione's gaze crossed the few feet between them, it carried six years along with it._

He didn't need to hear her answer.

Harry held Hermione's gaze for a long moment, and the Harry who finally nodded was older, much older, than he had been the moment before.

Slowly, Hermione regained consciousness of individual sounds. A scraping chair thrust back – Lupin's. A sharp intake of breath – Tonks. Creaking leather as Hagrid's weight shifted to his heels, the almost inaudible brush of fabric on fabric - Ron's hands dropping to his knees; a whirr of clicks as Moody's eye focused fast, focused hard, focused sharp.

"Hermione," Molly began, hands fluttering to her throat. She couldn't finish. A buzz of noise grew – not conversation, not whispering, but movement, half-spoken words, and fragments of thought. Just confusion.

"It's okay," Hermione began, absurdly. "It's not a surprise – I mean, not to me. I've known for a few days… ever since the formula…" With her good arm, she reached for her shoulder, which was starting to throb.

Hagrid loomed large by the door. His voice above the general buzz, "Yer not going to die because of a ruddy formula?"

Everyone glanced toward him, and Hermione's hand was in her pocket again.

_Whirr._ Then, _click._

And she realized Moody could see what she was holding.

She looked at him, into his real eye, an affirmation and a challenge, and after a fraction of an instant received a brusque nod.

_Fine. He knows the method of contact, not the contact himself. Fine._

Turning her attention back to the group, she heard Bill saying, "No, Hagrid, not because of the formula; it's just how she knows. How she knew it was Mum, and you."

"But there's a workaround, right?" Ron blurted.

Hermione blinked.

"Right?" Ron insisted.

_"Lie."_ Severus' thought was instantaneous.

"Yes."

Ron's face broke into a glowing smile, and in the chaos of relief and general conversation that followed, no one heard Moody's eye make one more _click_ before Hermione turned and went to stand by the window.

Harry moved to follow her, but at a gesture from Minerva he turned instead to Hagrid.

Only Tonks saw Remus' eyes go distant for a moment before he joined Hermione and put a hand on her shoulder.

She winced, and the mirror went white-hot in her pocket.

"Hermione," Remus said quietly. "I cannot imagine what you must have felt when the formula resolved into your name. I'm... I'm relieved, of course."

"But?"

"But..." He swallowed, running his hand through his hair and looking hard at the ceiling. "... but two people died that night."

The briefest hesitation, the smallest of nods. She did not look at him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, patting her shoulder again.

Hermione was sure that the mirror must be incandescent, that it would certainly burn through her clothes, but she kept her hand resolutely against it. _The small pain..._

Hermione flinched, and Lupin looked at her more closely. Angling his back to the rest of the room, effectively blocking her from both Harry and Moody, he said quietly, "What?"

"Nothing." She saw a dark, winged shape rise from the Forbidden forest and closed her eyes. "It's nothing."

In his silence she heard echoes of the same memories she'd come to recognize, the same memories, but from the other side of a gulf so absolute that even decades later it had the power to sear her skin.

Remus turned and leaned against the windowsill, watching Harry at the center of the Order. Kingsley was sketching a general layout on one of Dumbledore's spindly tables, and Harry was nodding.

"It seems there is never an end to the cruelty, Hermione. That you should be required by Lily's sacrifice to - "

"No, Remus," she said, her breath misting the windowpane as the Order plotted and strategized behind her. "Not me. I correspond to James."

His eyes shadowed with an old pain. "James? But how?"

Without inflection, she said, "Inversion."

Turning, Remus reached for her elbow – to steady her or himself she wasn't certain. His hand on her arm jarred her shoulder, and the mirror blistered her fingers, and she released it.

Remus ran his finger over the lead joins near the bottom of the window, tracing the diamond panes. Over, to a corner, hesitating, changing direction, angling up, pausing, then angling down a different join. Tracing a single pane, then another, adjacent, to the side, then back to the first, then up, to another.

"So, for Lily, it's - " he stopped himself.

"Him," she said.

Halfway around the higher pane, he stopped and tapped the lead at the corner. "So he… he's going to…"

"Die, if he has to." She turned away from the window and looked at him hesitantly. "He made that choice before Harry was even born." She saw something shutter his eyes, and made a fast decision. "Lily knew it. She was there."

Lupin exhaled slowly. "I think she cared for him once. I've often wondered if that was what set all this in motion."

"No," Hermione said quietly, "but it may be what stops it." She hesitated for a moment, then said, "I think he wonders, too."

She left him turning to look out at the pennants that were stirring softly over the Quidditch pitch, and went to join Harry, Ron, and Bill, who were standing with Hagrid.

"Bloody brilliant, Hermione," Ron said, thumping her on the shoulder, his features once again open as he smiled at her.

Hermione forced herself to smile back as inside her pocket her hand went again to the mirror.

It was cool.

/x/

Severus sat at the table glaring through the broken window at the shapes that were drifting just beyond the garden wall.

The mirror sat before him on the table.

The Order was once again seated in a semi-circle around Minerva's desk and had nearly concluded their discussion of the evening's plans – to reconvene at Hogwarts at dusk to receive their Portkeys and wait. There was little else concrete that they could do; they had an afternoon in which to come to terms with improvisation.

As Minerva was about to draw the meeting to a close, Remus asked, "What's the correspondence, Hermione?"

Hermione glanced at him, suddenly wary. Her hand went into her pocket, and she felt Severus' wordless response.

Hagrid turned toward Remus – "What d'yer mean, correspondence?"

Everyone settled and Remus glanced at Hagrid, then focused abstractly on a point on the floor halfway between his feet and the bottom of Minerva's desk. He was reaching for an explanation when Bill spoke up. "Each of the Indemnities corresponds, in some way, to a quality, a characteristic of the person who was killed to make the original Horcrux. The first was 'childhood,' corresponding to Moaning Myrtle, and Ginny. Do you see?"

After a quiet moment, Hagrid nodded.

"And it seems," said Molly, "that all of the correspondences imply some - " she gestured, groping for the right word.

"Connection?" Arthur offered.

Molly smiled her thanks and nodded. "Some connection between people – children and parents. Motherhood, fatherhood, protectors…"

"So what's mine, then?" Hagrid asked gruffly. "Haven't got any kids, and neither does Hermione, here."

"Caretaking," Hermione whispered, not trusting her voice not to break. "It's caretaking. Frank Bryce…" She swallowed.

"The Muggle caretaker at the Riddle house," Minerva supplied quietly. "The one Tom killed to make the Horcrux in the snake."

Hagrid's eyes hooded for a moment, then he gave a grim nod. "'E's hitting us where we live, 'in'e? The ruddy bastard."

"What's yours, Hermione?" Ron asked curiously, confident that his friend would save herself, just as she has saved his mother.

Neither Remus nor Minerva moved.

"I should have thought that would be obvious, Ron," Hermione sniffed, with a glance toward Harry and a significant look back to Ron.

Ron knew from long experience what that look meant – he'd just put his foot in it. "Sorry, mate," he muttered to Harry.

Harry nodded, eyes ablaze. "She cares. About me. And so did my mum." He looked grimly at Hermione. "It's sacrifice, isn't it?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Sort of."

"Ruddy bastard," Hagrid repeated.

"I'll make him pay," Harry said quietly. "For all of you."

/x/

In the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Severus sat suddenly straighter, seeing Harry's eyes through Hermione's.

He had seen that same determined intensity in Lily's, once, so long ago.

And in his mind, an entire set of variables that he had for nearly two decades played in constant, endless variation – his torment through grating hours of sleeplessness; his scream of defiance, bitten behind his clenched jaw during raging performances of depravity and blood; his desperate plea, shouted from the depths of half-remembered nightmares.

An infinite set of possibilities dissolved, resolved, hardened in an instant, replaced by one certainty, a constant, as across space, time, and memory, and for the first time, Severus saw more than just her eyes in her son.

/x/

As the Order members dispersed, Minerva chivvied Kingsley ahead of her out of the office. "A word, Kingsley…"

Finally alone – Tonks had gone ahead with Moody and the Weasleys – Remus buried his head in his hands. _James. Lily. Sirius. I wish… _

"It is difficult, I know," came Dumbledore's voice from the wall.

"Albus." Remus' voice was hollow as he spoke into his hands. "It's all happening too fast. And too late." He turned haunted eyes to the headmaster's portrait. "We were children, Albus. All of us. As they are…" He gestured to the empty office that Harry, Ron and Hermione had just vacated along with the rest of the Order. "Children."

Dumbledore nodded. "It is never easy."

"And Hermione… she confirmed something I'd long suspected, about Lily, and about Snape," Remus continued, his words seeming to rush even in his reluctance to speak them aloud. "How does she know, Albus? How does she know everything she knows?"

"The same way, Remus, that you ascertained who her source was among the Death Eaters. Logic. Reason. Reflection. An open mind, and, I daresay, an open heart."

Remus looked worried. "She told me about the plural Indemnity – that Snape is willing to die, for Harry."

"As he has ever been, Remus," Dumbledore said quietly. "As have we all."

"For Harry, or for Lily?" Remus' eyes glittered with doubt, loyalty pushing him to hover on the edge of a violence, visible evidence of an internal battle he had fought against himself for so long it had become a habit, as much a part of himself as knowing the phase of the moon.

"In his mind I believe they are at once the same, and yet distinct," Dumbledore began slowly.

"Hermione said Lily knew of his commitment."

Dumbledore waited for several moments before speaking. "She did."

"How?"

"She asked it of him, Remus. She was a young mother protecting her unborn child, and she asked it of him who had once been a friend."

"_She asked it of him?_"

Dumbledore nodded.

"You." The struggle in Remus' eyes grew more pronounced.

"I never refused any who turned to me, or to Hogwarts, for protection, no, nor for sanctuary, Remus," he said evenly.

Some of the anger faded from Remus' face as Dumbledore's point hit home. He looked down, shook his head slightly, and cleared his throat. "Did James know?" he asked quietly.

"I believe he did not," Dumbledore said sympathetically, "but there was little to know, Remus. Lily and Severus met in my presence, once, in this office. Your loyalty to James does you credit, but there is no cause to doubt anyone's fidelity. Anyone's."

Remus glanced up and nodded. "Of course. I just… of course. It was just disconcerting, I suppose, to have been reminded. Of everything." He shook his head as though trying to clear his vision. "Albus," he continued, after a moment.

Dumbledore waited.

"Hermione and – and Snape. Do they really have a workaround?"

"Possibly."

Remus glared at the floor, and Dumbledore continued, "Harry's scar is a somewhat more complicated Horcrux than a locket or a snake."

"I thought she must be lying."

"I have found Miss Granger to be a rather poor liar."

Remus turned this over in his mind. "She seems to be getting better."

"And it is to be hoped that that improvement continues, at least through tonight."

Remus nodded, but looked as though there was another question he wanted to ask.

Dumbledore waited.

"Albus… Snape and… he – he can't be…"

"I trusted him with my life, Remus, and he did not disappoint me. Whatever reassurance you seek will, likewise, play out, given time."

"Albus. She is a child."

"From your perspective, I am certain that she seems very young indeed. Perhaps as young as you appear from mine," Dumbledore replied calmly.

A hint of quiet humor in Remus' eyes, quickly replaced by a memory. "She reminds me a little of Lily. More so this summer." He sounded troubled.

"Echoes reach us when most we need to hear them, Remus, but they are, finally, only echoes. And a fine afternoon such as this should not be wasted in listening to them, especially not when, as now, there is a young Auror waiting for you – one, I believe, with an eye toward the very near future."

Remus stood and, as was his habit, dusted off his robes, although there was no dust on them. He looked at Dumbledore's portrait, then sighed. "Thank you, Albus."

The door closed behind him. After a few minutes, Dumbledore reached into his robes and restored the book to its preferred place on his lap.

Dumbledore glanced toward the window where Hermione and Remus had stood talking a little while before. From his angle, he couldn't quite see the Quidditch pitch.

/x/

When Severus had seen that look before, threads of flame were emerging from Dumbledore's wand at the join of their hands.

He had not blinked.

Neither had she.

But when, with the final element of the Vow, she had mercifully ensured his death should her child fail, he had gripped her hand hard, embracing the Compulsion that flared in their shared blood – blood they shared from their childish Muggle ritual not that many years prior.

She had not blinked, but had squeezed his hand gently.

And he had had to look away and close his eyes.

And now, finally, her son had become her heir, a single constant in what nonetheless remained a sea of chaos.

/x/

The shapes outside the garden wall blocked more and more of the light, the mist resolved into a new generation of darkness.


	55. If

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's been reading – I never imagined that this story would happen, nor that it would touch so many.

_On behalf of the cast and crew of _A Walking Shadow

_Tayet, Hermione, Severus and I would like to thank you for your support in the Multifaceted Awards "Identity" (original character) and "Intelligence" (dramatic fic) categories... We are all touched... (Well, I'm not sure Tayet understands, really, but she seems happy...)_

_... touches heart... bows..._

* * *

**If**

_The shapes outside the garden wall blocked more and more of the light, the mist resolved into a new generation of darkness._

Tonks drew Remus aside as soon as they had Harry securely settled inside the wards. They were not seen for the rest of the afternoon.

Bill kissed his mother on the cheek and Disapparated with Fleur.

Molly set about preparing lunch, letting Arthur imagine that he was helping

Harry, Ginny and Ron played Exploding Snap. Harry and Ginny held hands under the table, and Ron pretended not to notice. They, likewise, pretended that he wasn't blushing, scowling, and grinning in equal amounts.

/x/

Minerva sent Hagrid to her office and sat in the deserted Gryffindor Common Room making Portkeys. After three-quarters of an hour, she returned to the corridor and waited by the gargoyle.

Hagrid emerged a bit later, eyes wide and glistening. He seemed taller.

_Impossible,_ Minerva thought, as the spiraling stairs carried her upwards.

/x/

Moody spent the afternoon glaring into his foe glass.

/x/

Kingsley Shacklebolt completed eight hours' work in four for the Muggle Prime Minister, who was very sympathetic about that morning's emergency trip to the dentist.

/x/

Fred and George made the rent at noon, and arranged to meet Charlie at the Leaky Cauldron after closing.

/x/

Hermione quietly cast _Reparo_ on the broken window, and embraced Severus from behind, wordlessly, with her good arm.

/x/

And a female phoenix sketched a purple blur over tropical skies, soaring back and forth over the house with no ceiling, circling down to land on Mr. Ollivander's worktable, eyes whirling with the dance of a thousand sunlit flashes on an eternity of waves.

Tayet loved the ocean, and Mr. Ollivander woke up from his nap.

/x/

Severus turned in his chair to raise his eyes to Hermione's. "Are you ready?" he asked her quietly.

"No," she smiled sadly, brushing his hair off of his forehead. "Not even close."

He sighed, losing himself in the feel of her hand as she stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hair. At his hairline, fingers into his hair, combing it away from his forehead, behind his ear. He leaned into her warmth, and her fingers continued, down his neck, to his collar, the blue-black glint almost lost in the obscured light from beyond the garden wall, blue-black against the empty night of the wool of his coat.

Resting her fingers at the end of his braid, Tayet's tear a gleam of red, a low glow, as of a coal, a last, radiant coal, refracting through a blood-red heartbeat, illuminating a crimson carpet, a dark, mahogany table.

"Why did it have to be red, Severus?" she asked quietly.

He exhaled slowly against the rough weave of her robes. "Blood, probably. That would be the obvious symbolism."

Her lips quirked. "As if anything about her is obvious." Her fingers did not stop moving.

"Did you ever see Fawkes' tears?" he murmured quietly, still lost, his mind departed to the timelessness of Hermione's touch, the single constant that had formed that morning releasing him, for an hour, a little more, from a lifetime of conscious stealth, a pacing ire encaged within a fence of interwoven flames, of lurking in the jagged shadows cast by his own fractured edges. Just smooth, now, for an hour, a little more, Hermione's hand smooth on his hair, on the small, resonant permanence at the end of a tiny black braid.

Tayet's tear touched his neck sometimes when he was sleeping. It wasn't cold.

When there was light, the tear reflected it straight into Hermione's eyes. Sometimes it was blinding.

There wasn't much light now - just a kind of backlit shadow – and she didn't even need to blink.

"No," she said, low, after long moments absorbed in the feel, the long, smooth lines of his hair, falling, to his shoulders, the contrast between it and the wool and the small, smooth teardrop. "No, I never saw Fawkes cry, only heard him, after…"

"They looked white. In the right light, though…" he swallowed hard, a memory welling unbidden to the surface – _the hospital wing – after returning from His side, blood caked, swelling, an old wound reopened precisely with calculated malice, requiring… Fawkes at his side, leaning… kept from normal light until his sight recovered… only a small globe, its light black, illuminating his recovery behind hermetically Charmed leaded draperies…_ - "… they may have had a touch of purple." _Fawkes' tears a glow so intense it had frightened him, luminous, in the darkness, a deeper darkness so far removed from normal naked eyesight it circled back on itself, unbearably intense, unbearable, blinding…_

_"Ultraviolet,"_ her thought, feather-light, down-soft, in his mind.

A wall of rage at her, against her – not her – any intruder, his memories.

_"Shhh,"_ she breathed, a caress on the wall. _"Shhh."_ As the wall dissolved, she was reminded, inanely, of _The Monster Book of Monsters._

Severus nodded, forcing himself to relax. "It would stand to reason that hers be infrared."

Her brow furrowed. "I shouldn't be able to see it, then."

"In the right light. Or, perhaps, the right darkness."

Lowering her head to his, smiling into his hair. "I'd say that's you."

He turned abruptly in his chair to look up at her, and she straightened. "Hermione."

Her hand stilled on his shoulder. "What is it?"

Eyes intent, he raised a hand, a gesture of instinctive authority, his fingers reaching for – "I'm sorry – may I?" He indicated her blouse.

A puzzled nod. "Of course, but… ?"

Her arms fell to her side and she flinched as her shoulder popped again.

Severus felt her flinch and he frowned.

"Hagrid," she said. "He didn't mean it."

His face hardened, but he said nothing, slipping his hand under her robes to slide it off of her shoulder, his hand returning softly to her buttons. "And Lupin?" he asked finally, his fingers gently working the buttons open, carefully, so as not to jostle her.

"He meant to be reassuring. I think. I don't think he realized, about my shoulder…" Her voice trailed away as Severus eased the cloth away from her skin, and she closed her eyes as she felt his breath on her neck as he leaned closer.

Pointedly ignoring the swirling cloud of Hermione's mark after one involuntary glance, he held her shoulder lightly and reached for his wand.

"This may hurt," he said, distractedly, as he concentrated on isolating the nature of the injury.

A small, empty laugh.

He frowned, and focused more intently. When he moved his hand to her side to position her differently, she gasped, and he drew back.

"My ribs," she said.

"Hagrid, again?"

"He was rather… grateful."

Severus nodded and eased her blouse down further, moving his wand down toward her ribs.

He said nothing for several moments, and Hermione let herself sag slightly as, in his care, tension drained from places she hadn't known she'd been carrying it. "That feels good," she said.

"I'm not doing anything," he said, still deep in his examination.

"Yes, you are," she said.

He glanced up at that.

Her face – her brows relaxed; her eyes closed, shadowed; and her mouth serene. Unbidden, a memory of her regal posture as she'd maneuvered him with words and then with her disarming nearness to regain her wand. A small, sharp pain reflected in his eyes; a small, slow sigh – inaudible, more motion than breath – and a hand to her cheek, his thumb a soft motion under her eyelashes.

"You should return to Hogwarts, to Poppy," he said quietly.

Her eyelids fluttered but remained closed. "No."

He considered her gravely for a moment. "I am no mediwizard, Hermione, and have no store of potions."

"No," she said again, still quietly, opening her eyes to see the concern in his.

He looked at her, feeling time ebbing inexorably from his grasp, and finally nodded, drawing himself out of his chair and heading for the hearth.

"What are you doing?"

He reached for the Floo powder and tossed in much more than was necessary for simple communication.

A moment later Minerva's head appeared in the flames. "Hermio- Severus!" she gasped, recoiling slightly as she took in the unmistakable signs of his anger and the sight of Hermione, disheveled, behind him.

"Minerva." Severus nodded once, soberly, letting the silence hang between them.

Minerva's face sharpened, then, with obvious effort, she recovered herself. A little more brusquely than was her wont, she insisted, "Those flames, Severus - what is the emergency? Or have you made wastefulness a habit in your time away?"

His eyes glittered with intensity and something else that Minerva couldn't identify. "That bumbling colossus nearly dislocated her shoulder and may have cracked her ribs."

"Send her throu - "

"She cannot Floo in this condition; nor will I risk her leaving my side. Not today." He waited a moment for Minerva to appreciate the risks and possible complications were he to suddenly appear, striding through the halls of Hogwarts, in full view of portraits, ghosts, and house-elves. When she pursed her lips in realization, he continued, "Are the staff potions still in the office?"

Minerva disappeared instantly from the flames, returning a moment later to pass several flasks into his waiting hands.

He selected two for Hermione and secreted the rest in his robes. "A moment, Minerva?"

She nodded.

After he had settled Hermione in the parlor, with instructions to take the second potion lying down, as it would cause almost instant sleep, he returned to the kitchen hearth.

"How badly is she injured, Severus?"

"Not seriously, but more than those potions will heal in one afternoon. But perhaps it is for the best that she rest, considering…"

"Ollivander?"

"I'm expecting him at any time, and if by some infinitesimally small chance he offers a straight answer, it may be best that Hermione not hear."

Minerva frowned. "If he thinks it won't work, you mean."

Severus' eyes hardened and he nodded once, sharply, then abruptly changed the subject. "Is Tayet still at Hogwarts?"

"She wasn't with you?"

Severus frowned. _Dratted bird._ He shook his head. _Later. While there is a later._

He sank to the hearth before Minerva's unreadable eyes. Leaning his elbow on one upright knee, he rubbed his eyes. "How much did Hermione tell you?"

"She lied most unconvincingly about a certain workaround. Hagrid and the younger Mr. Weasley believed her; perhaps a few of the others."

He continued rubbing his eyes. "The Aurors?"

"Doubtful. Nor Lupin, nor Bill. The rest may have been distracted enough…"

A pause. "Harry?"

Minerva's eyes widened slightly at his choice of address, and his lips twisted, an echo of his usual smirk.

"Mr. Potter chose to believe her, at least. Severus," the headmistress continued, "are you prepared for this?"

"Of course."

She tilted her head skeptically, and he bristled. "I have done as much before, Minerva."

"No, Severus. That… that daft scheme you and Albus hatched was nothing compared to this. If the wands don't - "

But he was on his feet, his eyes glinting a warning. "That night was far from 'nothing,' Minerva. You've seen the formulae. My soul is as fractured as the Dark Lord's."

"_As is mine,_ Severus. Perhaps not metaphysically, but he…"

Severus saw her eyes flicker upward, and saw her features soften slightly.

"… he _was_ my soul." She whispered these words, and his hand reached involuntarily into the flames.

Minerva's hand met his, and gripped it urgently.

"If the wands don't work the way you hope, and you have to…"

"They will."

"_If they don't,_ Severus, and they very well may not, I - I will kill you myself."

Something flickered in his eyes, then he grew solemn, and nodded.

Minerva was still speaking. "I shan't let you live with that memory, if you do have to… of what you'll have had to do, for any longer than is absolutely necessary."

He looked at her seriously. "If Moody doesn't get me first."

Minerva's eyes narrowed. "I'll see to it."

He held her eye for a moment, then nodded. His voice strained, harsh, "Only if Harry succeeds. If he fails, I am bound - "

She interrupted him. "I'm aware of that. I'll see to it."

Nodding stiffly, as if she were dismissing a staff meeting, she squeezed his hand, once, and disappeared into the flames.

_Thank you,_ he thought, gazing at the empty hearth.

He reached for the mantel and stood still for a moment before going to check on Hermione.

/x/

"Squerk!" A sooty Tayet zoomed out of the Floo before the slower Mr. Ollivander emerged, straightening stiffly.

He stood blinking in the dark, deserted kitchen.

There was no fire.

Tayet screeched through the empty house.

Even Mrs. Black was silent as Tayet's cries echoed from room to empty room. As the phoenix flew through the hallway, Mrs. Black raised a half-hearted hand, then dropped it into her lap.

Mr. Ollivander waited in the kitchen, chuckling.

When Tayet finally reappeared, frantically battering at him with her wings, he held out his arm for her. She landed, eyeing him furiously, adjusting her footing as he drew a gold chain out of his robes and included her in its circle.

"Tea for two, lovey. Two for tea. Just in time."

Tayet let out a "Squeep!" of alarm as the shiny thing in his hands turned and the silent kitchen began to move backwards.

/x/

Tayet zoomed, trilling, into the parlor.

Severus looked up in warning, and Tayet instantly quieted, landing on Hermione's stomach.

A low note.

Breathing?

Breathing.

A brighter note.

Sleeping?

She turned her head to look at Severus, who reached out to touch her blackened feathers.

"Not so purple now, are you?" he said, laughing softly. "Silly thing. A phoenix, using the Floo…"

Tayet stepped back and forth lightly on Hermione's chest, quietly singing, her notes soft flashes of sound, almost silence.

At the creak of the kitchen door, Severus' hand flew to his wand.

"Relax, lad," came Mr. Ollivander's rasping voice, even as Mrs. Black announced, "Ooooh, if it isn't the sodding nutter, come to call!"

"Hush, child," Mr. Ollivander said absently, then, a gleam growing in his eye, turned to face the portrait. "Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how dark your garden grows… how very dark, with visitors a-waiting on the wall, coming to keep the feast…"

Mrs. Black stared at him blankly, but, coming into the hall, Severus looked up, startled, and moved swiftly to open the kitchen the door to glance through the window.

The shadows were deeper, but no closer than before.

He turned back toward Mr. Ollivander, who chuckled and handed him two silk-wrapped parcels.

Severus made no move to unwrap them, but he thought, fleetingly, that the illusion of tomorrow should somehow be heavier.

"You'll know," Mr. Ollivander confirmed, darkly. "Yes, you'll know."

Tayet glided into the hall and perched on Severus' shoulder, bracing a talon on his chest as she leaned down to examine the parcels, then twisted her head around to look up at him, crooning hesitantly.

Severus smiled gently and touched her head.

Mr. Ollivander chuckled again. "Quoth the raven - "

"Squirp," she informed him, pertly.

Mr. Ollivander's eyes burned, sudden, intense, into Severus' own. "Don't touch them, not until it's time."

Severus looked at him guardedly. "But if the wand chooses the - "

"In this matter, does it matter? Choose, or be chosen; no matter. The ebony would go well with your robes, though."

Severus' eyes narrowed.

"Easier to hide." A cackle. Serious. "Don't touch them."

"You know, do you not, what we plan for these?" Severus asked quietly

"Of course. Why else would she be here?" Mr. Ollivander reached a finger toward Tayet, and she pecked it.

Severus stared at the parcels in his hands, and exhaled slowly.

"Ah. He thinks he might want the answer to 'if.'" A slow grin cracked Mr. Ollivander's wizened face. "If it can work. If it can't." His voice gentling, kinder. "Do you? Do you really?"

Severus closed his eyes and nodded.

"Of course it can't work, lad. It's impossible. As it's impossible, no one's ever tried it. Naturally. Perhaps no one's ever thought of it. Or perhaps some have tried and just - " He held his hands open, empty. Eyes calm, sane. Then, very softly, "So which comes last, Severus? Which? The ashes? Or the phoenix?"

Mr. Ollivander regarded him sadly for a moment, then turned on his heel and strode toward the kitchen. "And now, I want my tea."

The sound of the Floo, and he was gone.

/x/

Severus stood in the hall, trying to ignore the fine trembling that had started in his hands.


	56. Here and Everywhere

A/N: A deep note of gratitude to my favorite reader, Ari!Mom, and to Melenka, Luna and Anastasia/TimeTurnerForSale, who usually see or hear everything before it appears on screen. They are the four pillars of my fiction-writing universe, and I promise you that without them, the "purple chicken" would not exist.

A special thanks to Annie Talbot for her beautiful thoughts on words and the beautiful words she used to express them.

* * *

**Here and Everywhere**

_"So which comes last, Severus? Which? The ashes? Or the phoenix?"_

Severus stood in the hall, trying to ignore the fine trembling that had started in his hands.

Tayet's talons clicked on the wooden armrest as she paced back and forth, looking down at Hermione's sleeping form, looking back to Severus who sat, still holding the silk-wrapped wands, head bowed, hair curtaining his face.

"Whirp," she said sorrowfully.

She looked down at Hermione's shoulder, then back at Severus, and then paced some more.

_Click. Click click. Click._

"Whirrrrp," Tayet crooned, looking back at Severus.

Without looking up, he said, "I've done all I can for her shoulder, little one."

"Whirrrrrrrrrp," she complained.

Severus glanced up through his hair, a small smile on his lips. "You are a phoenix, you know. I don't suppose you could… ?"

Tayet regarded Severus strangely, took a step backwards, and nearly fell off the arm of the sofa.

At the sight of her mad flapping, Severus barked a short laugh. "Didn't think of that, did you?"

"Whirp!" Tayet said finitely, her talons clicking once again on the armrest as she moved toward Hermione's shoulder. "Whirrrrp."

_Click. Click._

Tayet looked at her feet, then went cross-eyed, then made a clicking noise with her beak. "Click." Her eyes widened happily and she made it again. "Click!" Then a satisfied "Whirrp."

"Moody, no!" Hermione mumbled, tossing her head to the side, her arm coming up instinctively, her face contracting briefly as her shoulder popped again.

Severus and Tayet froze for a moment, but Hermione did not awaken.

Tayet leaned her head down and poked Hermione's shoulder with her beak. "Whirp." Then "Click." Then she blinked a tear, and, as Severus watched, a shadow spread over Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione whimpered.

Tayet hopped down from her perch to stand on Hermione's bare shoulder.

"Gently!" Severus was on his feet, his hand moving automatically, too late, to keep Tayet from settling her weight on the injury.

The parcels lay fallen, forgotten, on the floor.

Tayet looked up at Severus, eyes wide. "Squerk?"

Severus was standing icily still, eyes sharp, watching for signs of pain on Hermione's face.

"Squerk?" Tayet looked up at him, spreading her wings slightly, then she turned and buried her head in Hermione's hair.

"Tayet… I… she's obviously experiencing no discomfort… I… " _Blast._

But Tayet was trembling.

From the depths of Hermione's hair, Severus heard, "Squeep." Then "Squeeeep."

The phoenix was crying.

/x/

Minerva looked up at Albus' portrait. "Albus, what is that book?"

"I believe it belonged to Lily Potter, Minerva," he said patiently, turning a page.

Minerva put down her quill and moved closer to the wall. "How is that possible?"

"I get the distinct impression that she was once a firefly. And that she became a meal for a rather young phoenix."

Minerva tilted her head back for a better look.

"She? The book's a 'she'? And was a… a what? Albus… have you lost your mind?"

He looked at her over the top of his spectacles, smiling kindly. "Of course not." He flipped the book over, examined the ink and thumbprint on the cover, then turned it back for reading. "I believe Severus was your student, after all." He turned another page. "Talented, as I recall."

"Yes, yes, he did passably well in Transfiguration, of course, but what has that to do with… ?" She gestured toward the book.

"We all make choices, Minerva. This," he held the book up, still open, in both hands, "this, I believe, was his." Smiling enigmatically, he turned the book around so that she could read the inscription, and see the drawing Lily had made so many years before.

Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes began to sparkle as a slow smile spread on her face. "Well," she said, finally. "Well, then. Oh, Albus. That is excellent news."

He closed the book, using his finger to mark his place, and waited patiently for her to continue.

"I did not know that Lily ever returned his feelings. Oh, how wonderful."

"Minerva, you sound like a Second year dreaming of the Yule Ball."

"It's witches' business, Albus," she sniffed, smiling delightedly. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

He opened one hand. "I realize that I am at a serious disadvantage on that score, of course."

Minerva noted that his other hand did not leave its place in the book.

"But you would now, as always, find me a ready pupil, Professor." His eyes twinkled.

"Oooh, you are daft." She didn't sound displeased. "He loved once, Albus."

Albus nodded, his eyes flashing over the wire frames. "That he did. And if this poor, worn book is any indication," he thumbed the book's frayed corner, "for many years."

"It stands to reason that he can again. Wonderful. Perfectly wonderful." For a moment she did, in fact, resemble her younger students, but soon, too soon, the shadows of care returned to her face, and, with a hesitant smile that did not reach her eyes, she said, "Yes, well. Supposing."

As she turned back toward her desk, Albus' voice interrupted her. "Tayet, Goddess of weaving. Companion to Anubis (cf. Hermes, cf. Hermanubis), Guardian of the Underworld. Represented in funerary rites by a loosely woven… linen… curtain." He looked up. "Imagine." He closed the book.

Minerva was staring at him, the color rising in her cheeks. "Anubis? The jackal? Oh. _Oh._"

Albus' eyes were twinkling violently. "Perhaps, Minerva, once this is over, you might consider expanding the Mythology section of the Library? Cross-referenced, perhaps, with Muggle Studies?"

She smirked, and quipped, "And Divination, I suppose?"

He smiled serenely. "Perhaps. Or perhaps a new section on Serendipity."

She sniffed. "No one will believe that. Sibyll will be thrilled." She groaned.

"This was no prophecy, Minerva. Life can happen without them, you know." And he remembered one night by the Lake, finding her…

_… as she stood by the Lake one night, lost in the frozen moonlight, cheeks pale, frozen tears crystal on her eyelashes, bereft, nothing, gone, all of them, and a vast expanse of frozen, immutable darkness before her and he gave her his cloak against a chill that nothing, he knew, not even his heart, could ever fully erase._

They stood that way for hours, and even the stars cast shadows on the snow.

She finally turned her eyes from the empty mirror of the frozen Lake and scolded him in a cracking voice for not Transfiguring something else to wrap her in. "You'll catch your death, Albus."

_No. My life,_ he'd' thought, as they had turned and made their way slowly toward the castle.

He closed his eyes. How right he had been, although it been over a decade before she had turned to him as more than a friend, as what she might have been, before, and was, afterwards.

"I am never surprised, Minerva, at how so many are willing to find proof in coincidence, yet are nonetheless eager to dismiss truth as but another facade."

She gave him a look – a smiling look he knew meant he'd won a round.

He had never known from day to day what kind of argument would be the one to finally convince her in any of their exchanges, but he'd never admitted that.

He trusted his luck. And that was wizards' business, after all.

/x/

Tayet was crooning piteously, and Hermione's hand moved to the phoenix's sooty neck, stroking gently, even in her sleep.

"Come out, little one." Severus placed his hand gently on Tayet's back. "I did not mean to scare you. You were grand, just grand."

A quiet "Squeep" from Hermione's hair.

"Please, love," he said.

She peeked out. "Squirp?"

Severus' hand did not cease its slow movement. "Yes," he began, his voice soft, his throat tightening, "I love you, little thing. Do stop hiding. Please."

In an instant, Tayet was clinging to two of his buttons and rubbing her head ecstatically on his cheek. "Whirp!"

And she was back on Hermione, leaning and blinking tears over her ribs.

Hermione sighed softly in her sleep, and Tayet marched across her stomach and onto Severus' knee.

As Severus and Tayet watched, the air over Hermione's skin wavered, an irradiated transparency edged with a glowing black that disappeared if Severus tried to look directly at it.

"Squeep," Tayet whispered, pecking Severus' hand. She flicked a look at him, and returned to staring at Hermione.

"I see it," he breathed.

Within its ring of seven small black circles, the tears formed of forgiveness, shaped of a dark and agonized beauty, the swirling circle was filled.

"Severus?" Hermione's eyes opened, and as she traced her hand upward, over her chest, lightly brushing the mark that she knew from his eyes had changed, Tayet sang one rich note.

It flew straight to Severus' heart.

/x/

Up to his elbows in soapy water, Harry leaned into Ginny's hair. "Gin…"

She smiled at his tone and kept her eyes on the dish she was drying.

"Gin," he whispered against her ear.

She closed her eyes as his breath seemed to travel straight down her spine. Her hands slowed and stopped.

"I love you."

She rested her head on his and closed her eyes.

"I know, Harry," she murmured. "I love you, too."

/x/

Arthur and Molly sat together, the cushions on that end of the sofa softened by their history of hours in that same spot.

Ron sat on the floor in front of them, leaning against their legs.

Every so often, Molly's hand would brush his hair, or Arthur's would pat his shoulder.

"We're proud of you, son," Arthur said quietly.

"Thanks, Dad."

/x/

Lupin's nose twitched, and he opened his eyes to blue sky through rustling leaves.

Tonks was holding a seeded grass stem over his nose, her eyes daring him to do anything but smile.

So he smiled.

/x/

Moody sat, scowling at his foe glass; Kingsley straightened the papers on his desk.

In Diagon Alley, George cast the Locking Charms on the door, and he and his twin set off to meet Charlie.

/x/

And in the parlor in number twelve, Grimmauld Place, neither Severus nor Hermione dared draw breath.

"Hermione, I - " and her finger was on his lips, her hand smoothing under his hair, warm and soft holding his head gently, drawing him to her.

"Shhh," she said, a whisper away from a kiss, her eyes, his, open, aware, fluttering, closing. "Shhh."

And his hands were in her hair, his lips moving on hers… tender, awestruck –

and his voice in her mind –

_"… love you."_

/x/

Something was exciting them.

They were hungry.

They circled, slow, severe, ever darker, more solid.

A swirl of wind eddied last season's leaves in a low scraping on the walkway, an advance disturbance heralding the arrival, a dance of death on a path long-abandoned.

A footstep.

Another.

The wind brushing low, kissing a hem in a sigh of heavy fabric before it died before him.

He tasted the air.

They were hungry.

He extended a finger, beckoning.

They were hungry. They were his.

And they were here.


	57. Dies Irae I

A/N: I beg your forgiveness for my unusual delay in updating – conflicting deadlines conspired against my writing time. This chapter is short, but I wanted to give you all something, and to thank you for your patience. My time is again my own; Dies Irae (II) and the rest of the story will follow soon. - Ariadne

* * *

**Dies Irae (I)**

_They were hungry. They were his._

And they were here.

A cloud of darkness swirled over the rooftops of Grimmauld Place, dozens of ragged shapes blocking a sickly, failing sun.

In the shadows under dusty trees, a pair of dead red eyes flicked from the circling figures in the air to the buildings below.

To the house marked "number eleven."

To the house marked "number thirteen."

And back to the hovering starvation above.

_"Severusss…"_

Severus stiffened in Hermione's arms and he stared at the Mark on his forearm. It was dormant.

The voice in his mind should not have been there.

"Severus?" Hermione looked at him questioningly.

But her low voice was lost in the darker hiss of the voice before which he had accounted himself strictly, rigidly, a mirror of lies, for most of his life…

_"Severusss…"_

Severus' hands closed tightly on Hermione's arms, his fingers leaving bruising imprints, as his thoughts retreated before the Dark Lord, before the invasion of his mind. Fleeting questions abandoned, buried, before the Dark Lord could sense them - _How? Where _is_ he? How is this possible!_ - his mind breached across space, across distance – rushing panicked backwards through his own mind, half a thought ahead of the Dark Lord, leaving his thoughts a flowing stillness, smoothing one path barely in time for its rippling to stop before the Dark Lord was on it, in it, advancing to the next…

A sudden turn. Stifling a gasp. Anticipating the Dark Lord's next turn. And the next. And the next. A sudden backtracking. Circling around. Behind him now.

_He should not be in my mind…_

"Severus?"

Her voice was lower. No time now –

_"Severusss…"_

Schooling himself to stay one thought ahead; the Dark Lord's progress taking another sudden turn; Severus' mental patterns shifting, each complex pathway smoothing quickly to a singularity of loyal servitude…

_"I am here, my lord; all is as it should be…"_

…but behind the shifting surface, frantic - all of his skill, his experience, pressed into service of one goal: Retreat.

One thought away from detection, his mind concealed within the shadows that had ever been his playthings, his companions, the servants of his own continued existence, the practiced darkness that was Severus Snape was terrified.

"Severus?"

He scarcely heard Hermione's whisper. No time –

Inside his mind, sweeping around corners, advancing, circling around, the Dark Lord's mind moved smoothly in his own, gliding in an almost random almost-pattern; the pattern of the Dark Lord's movements, traversing his mind, touring his purpose, the pattern, the pattern…

_The same pattern._

… and Severus discerned the pattern of Voldemort's movements and the surface of his mind was stilled, smooth once more.

He exhaled, slowly easing his death grip on Hermione's arms.

She did not say his name, merely reached up to touch his sleeve, knowing that something was terribly wrong.

_"Severusss… you are close by… my children are circling above you… tell me the Secret, Severusss… I wish to taste this new force of chaos you have prepared for me… You are well concealed, between eleven and thirteen, Severusss… I cannot see it… tell me the Secret, Severusss…"_

The Dark Mark flared, searing his arm. He gritted his teeth, and his eyes bore into Hermione's in wordless command, supplication, panic, and burning, aching control. "He's here. He knows. Floo Minerva – I will stall him as long as I can."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly, and deep within them Severus saw a smoldering flare, alight, alive. His eyes flashed in response, and, their hands buried in each other's hair, one final, brutal kiss.

"He felt that."

"Good," Hermione hissed.

A flash of dark laughter in Severus' eyes, a deft wand motion, and his mask and cloak settling on him, a silk-wrapped parcel flying to his hand, and he was gone, the echo of his mental laughter a steel shield around Hermione's mind as she raced for the Floo.

Hermione's tone pierced the haunted silence of the headmistress' tower. "Minerva – Minerva!"

"Go, child! Phineas told me – GO!"

/x/

Voldemort withdrew from Severus' mind as Severus Apparated to the park at Grimmauld Place.

Strolling easily, confidently, to stand before Voldemort, his Death Eater guise a slash of emptiness in the hazy green of the dusty park, Severus felt the Dark Lord's mental departure. Whatever would happen, however it happened, he would soon draw breath as a free man – freed from bonds courted in malice, embraced in sacrifice.

His first breath of freedom in over 17 years.

And although he knew that that first breath might very well be his last, his eyes glittered in anticipation as, inwardly, he smiled.

It wasn't a nice smile.

"Severus," Voldemort said, his arms flowing open in a gesture at once a command and a mockery of an invitation to intimacy. "Their excitement will be contained no longer. Share, Severus. It is time to share."

The spaces between the trees filled as masked, robed figures Apparated to form a semi-circle around the Dark Lord.

At the center of the circle, Severus inclined his head. "She comes, my lord. Even now, she comes."

* * *

_Note on chapter title: The phrase "Dies Irae" is from the Requiem Mass (the Mass for the Dead) and is usually translated as "Day of Wrath," but the connotation is that of "Judgment Day."_


	58. Dies Irae II

A/N: I neglected to thank Luna for her usual brilliance in the previous chapter's notes. This chapter is dedicated to TimeTurnerForSale/Anastasia, who is reading it on her cell phone screen whilst on vacation. Truer fortitude knows no partner-in-crime.

* * *

**Dies Irae (II)**

"_She comes, my lord. Even now, she comes."_

Clad formally in her school robes, shoulders back and chin tilted proudly, Hermione stepped regally onto the pavement in front of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

From the park across the street, she appeared to ripple out of thin air.

On Hermione's shoulder, Tayet sat, icy, still, her sooty feathers drawing the light from the dusty, fading air.

The assembled Death Eaters rustled uncomfortably. Behind a mask, one pair of light grey eyes narrowed slightly.

Walking across the street, stately, unhurried, Hermione made her way under the shadows of the trees.

From her shoulder, Tayet peered into the park, her eyes darting from Voldemort to the snake at his feet and back. So low that only Hermione could hear, she emitted a low, trembling "Squeep."

Under the deepening shadows between the trees, his back to Hermione, Severus stood tall, silent, feeling her drawing nearer, following her progress in Voldemort's eyes, in the tracking movements of Nagini's head as she eyed the phoenix with deadly interest.

Overhead, the Dementors stopped circling and hovered, coming no closer at a small gesture from Voldemort. Eyes gleaming, his teeth bared slightly, he tasted the air, measuring its subtle change, drawn to the shadow of the phoenix on her shoulder as Hermione drew even with Severus.

_A Dark phoenix…_ Desire and greed flowed in veins that had long ceased to be fully human.

Seeing the hunger in Voldemort's eyes, Hermione took one calibrated step further.

No one moved.

Last year's leaves rustled around Hermione's ankles as her robes fluttered to stillness.

The leaves settled to silence, and she spoke.

"Hello, Tom Riddle."

In the choking silence that followed, only years of control kept Severus' eyes quiet.

Out of sight to Voldemort's left, a pair of light grey eyes – less well-schooled, less practiced – flicked from Hermione to Voldemort, thence to Severus, to the soot-black phoenix, and back to Hermione.

Hermione inclined her head, and waited.

/x/

The gates of Hogwarts rang closed in the Highland dusk.

The hills echoed the sound, and, in the forest, all sound, all motion abruptly ceased.

Deep in the Lake, a rolling motion that did not reach the surface, the Giant Squid turned over in its sleep.

/x/

Voldemort took in the appearance of the young woman standing simply before him. A sacrifice… a weapon… _Interesting…_ … the prize on her shoulder a delicacy to be claimed… _Very interesting… _

"No greeting, Tom?" Hermione said evenly.

Severus fought the urge to reach for her, to draw her behind him. Sensing his impulse, Hermione gestured calmly, her hand rising slightly between him and Voldemort.

"Surely, you know who I am," she continued, as though she had not just given Severus Snape a clear command in front of the assembled Death Eaters.

Tayet's unblinking gaze did not leave Voldemort's, although Hermione could feel her alertness every time Nagini moved.

Severus was watching the Dark Lord's chest for any hint of movement. Beneath the silky darkness of Occlumency, he was assessing Hermione's strategy, anticipating her next move, discarding variables as the scene played out before him, when he felt the Dark Lord in his mind once more.

Aloud, the Dark Lord answered, "You would challenge me, Mudblood?" but in Severus' mind, the words were otherwise: _"A Dark phoenix?"_

Tayet tilted her head a fraction, her focus on Voldemort intensifying.

_"Even so, my lord."_

Hermione's brittle laughter danced sharply in the evening air. "A greeting is hardly a challenge, Tom."

The Death Eaters held their breath. In his peripheral vision, Severus could see that more than one of them was visibly trembling, some from outrage, some from fear, which they would attempt to mask with doubled violence once were they allowed to spring.

Black eyes met grey across the circle. The grey blinked once, slowly.

Severus kept his eyes impassive.

"That is a mistake few have made twice, Mudblood," Voldemort said calmly, lips parting in what might have been amusement, or anticipation.

"Then perhaps a formal introduction is in order." Turning her head ever so slightly toward Severus, she nodded.

Again checking his impulse to step forward, to break the empty plane between Hermione and the Dark Lord, Severus said, "My lord, I present Hermione Granger."

Voldemort eyed her silently for a moment, then dropped his eyelids slightly. Not a full blink, but an acknowledgment – more to the phoenix she bore, to the fact that she bore the phoenix, than to her, obviously, but she would work with it.

"Granger," Severus continued, "his servants address the Dark Lord as 'my lord,' and only when invited to do so."

Something around Hermione's eyes crinkled. "Ah," she said simply. "I see."

She reached up to her robes and began unfastening them.

The light grey eyes were blinking furiously, their owner silently grateful that he was out of the Dark Lord's line of sight.

"I am afraid that I do not bear the Dark Lord's Mark," Hermione said, fingers still working at her robes, at the blouse underneath. "Only this." She pulled aside layers of fabric to reveal the black circle over her heart.

From a distance, it seemed an abyss.

Voldemort drew in a breath, an almost silent hiss. "That marks you as his, I suppose," he said finally, his chin tilting toward the unmoving phoenix.

"Hers," Hermione corrected him, "but that explanation will serve."

Robes rustled as several Death Eaters twitched involuntarily backwards, and a few – Severus among them – mastered their urge to step forward.

Hermione's only response was to reach out almost absently to toy with Severus' hair.

The grey eyes flew open, wide; a few other pairs sharpened with ill-concealed interest, growing heavier, clouding as blood rose in response to the implications of Hermione's gesture.

"You want her, don't you, Tom," Hermione continued, her voice darkening, huskier, her fingers trailing to comb through the hair at the back of Severus' neck. "Her presence calls to you – I can sense it." A small frown; her brow furrowed. "Or, perhaps, she can." Her gaze back to Voldemort, her fingers continuing through Severus hair. "Sometimes it's difficult to tell, for sure." She dropped her gaze briefly, opened her free hand, and smiled, a small smile, as if in apology.

From underneath her lashes, Hermione's gaze encompassed the park, but she saw no sign of the Order. Letting her open hand fall into the folds of her robes, she touched the package concealed therein and loosened its silken wrappings.

As Hermione touched his neck, Severus felt her in his mind, beneath the concealment of Occlumency.

_"What are you playing at?"_ His mental whisper carried with it an unmistakable growl.

_"Delay, Severus. I should have thought that would be obvious."_

_"It is dangerous for you to be in here; he, too, is here."_

_"Death Eaters before us, Dementors above, and the man speaks to me of danger,"_ she chided him, although he felt the far reaches of her control splintering along the edge of her thoughts. _"Theoretically, your Occlumency should cover both of us."_

_"'Theoretically?'"_ His response was arid.

_"The odds were never in our favor."_ Her mental smile was fleeting –young, open, and very, very scared. _"He should come for my mind shortly – I think I've pushed him a little hard..."_

_"You're mad, Hermione,"_ came Severus' response, but the mental caress that accompanied it was one of recognition, not regret.

Hermione felt the equivalent of black silk shirring over her mind.

_"Know that _you_ are my darkness and my flight, Severus. Protect Harry. And us, if you can."_

Inwardly drawing a deep breath, Hermione's focus returned to Voldemort.

Very slowly, she raised one eyebrow.

And as the Dark Lord leapt from Severus' mind to hers, Tayet spread her wings and let forth a piercing cry.

/x/

As the echoes of the closing gates faded away, Harry's hand closed around Ginny's, and he felt hers tighten in response.

Molly and Arthur smiled softly at Ron. Ron nodded.

A slight breeze ruffled Tonks' hair, and Lupin's throat tightened. The other Aurors waited silently.

Hagrid cleared his throat and turned to look at the castle, but all he could see was a vague, blurry outline.

After a long moment, Minerva put her hand gently on Hagrid's elbow. "Hagrid," she said softly.

Hagrid blinked rapidly and looked at the sky, adjusting his grip on his cross-bow. "All righ', then, Harry?"

"All right."

/x/

Tayet's cry sliced the air, and Hermione felt an odd slithering in her mind and, beneath it, a brush that felt like Severus' hair on her naked skin.

Her mind filled with the rustling of scales against silk. _"Such a strange mind, Mudblood."_

Hermione felt more scales rustling as Voldemort inspected her mind.

_"It reminds me of your master's. He has trained his pet well… Show me, Mudblood, show me the creation of the phoenix…"_

The silk that was Severus' Occlumency rippled aside, revealing a parchment in flames and the phoenix, blinking, in the ashes.

The image faded without revealing Severus' presence or either patronus.

_"Dark Arithmancy,"_ Voldemort mused.

Hermione's thoughts were still – an awareness, nothing more.

_"You fear me, Mudblood."_

_"Be careful,"_ Severus' thought breathed in her mind, little more than an exhalation, silence shaped into meaning by sheer force of will.

_"As all must,"_ she answered.

A pleased slithering, the scales of his thoughts coiling around themselves.

Then –

He struck her mind, blindingly fast, thrashing her thoughts to a scrambled chaos – faces flashing in her mind, flung aside – her parents – Ginny – Professor Dumbledore – Mrs. Weasley – Professor McGonagall – Hagrid –

_"No."_ Hermione's tone was absolute.

And the coils of Voldemort's thoughts slammed, hard, into something solid. He hissed.

Tayet sang a low note of warning, her wings beating once, a slow, curving darkness in the deepening shadows, drawing Voldemort's eyes.

Hermione's fingers tightened around Severus' braid, and she touched the smooth serenity of Tayet's tear.

As Tayet returned Voldemort's gaze, her wings still open, Severus and Hermione quickly scanned the area for…

_There._ An enormous shadow, waiting, in the trees. Behind it, another.

The grey eyes stopped blinking.

Overhead, the Dementors resumed their slow circling.

Drawing herself to stand taller, Hermione steeled her thoughts to strike one blow in a fight she would surely lose. _"She is a force of chaos, Tom. But you – " _A short laugh. Several Death Eaters started at the broken silence, Severus among them.

Hermione's mental laughter stopped suddenly, replaced with a pregnant waiting, a certain storm, poised to break. _" – you are merely Darkness. As much a slave to order as the Light which you claim as your _opposite. _The Light still defines you, Tom, in a way it can never define me,"_ she spat furiously.

An endless moment in which the flickering tongue of Voldemort's mind tasted the blazing, erratic truth of her words, and then he was gone from her mind.

She braced for the judgment she was certain was coming.

But Voldemort reached for Severus' mind again.

_"My lord?"_

_"She is dangerous."_

Severus nodded once.

_"Still, I am disappointed in you."_

Severus dropped his gaze briefly in apparent subjection, but remained alert to the entire area. As the Dark Mark prickled with the Dark Lord's displeasure, the bands of his oaths tightened around his soul, his oath to Lily constricting painfully with his Compulsion as the Order closed the distance from Hogwarts.

_"Hermione,"_ he breathed into her mind, _"they are coming."_

_"You concealed the phoenix from me, Severus. A Dark phoenix… so powerful an ascendant Darkness. Why?"_

A satisfied gleam grew in Severus' eyes as he answered, _"The phoenix did not turn full black until this afternoon._

Voldemort's eyes bore into Severus' steady, unblinking ones. As he weighed the balance of Severus' loyalty with the truth he tasted in his words, one long, pale finger wavered in the air, extending hungrily toward Tayet's blackened feathers.

A small hand closed suddenly around Voldemort's finger, bending it sharply backwards. _"No. She's _mine. The voice in Severus' mind was Hermione's.

Voldemort's wand was instantly at Hermione's throat. _"Crucio!"_

Tayet screamed, beating her wings furiously, and the Dementors broke their circle, swooping down on the Order members as they Apparated around them.


	59. Salva Me

A/N: A humble bow of gratitude to Luna, my beta, and to Anastasia, my partner-in-crime.

* * *

**Salva Me**

**(Save Me)**

_Tayet screamed, beating her wings furiously, and the Dementors broke their circle, swooping down on the Order members as they Apparated around them._

From their position in the center of the park, Hagrid and Grawp watched as Voldemort pressed his wand into Hermione's throat.

Hagrid gripped his cross-bow tightly and growled as he saw Hermione go rigid. Around her and Voldemort and the tall Death Eater, he thought he saw a tinge of red in the air. He hoped it wasn't blood.

Not bothering to check on the position of the rest of the Order, nor to spot Nagini, nor even to move quietly, he charged toward the row of Death Eaters between him and the young witch.

Grawp's small, watery eyes narrowed and, roaring, he followed Hagrid, ripping a nearby tree out by its roots. He would smash whatever was making Hagrid unhappy.

Hearing Grawp's roar, the Death Eaters whipped around, wands flashing an array of curses that did little to deter the advance. Those in the direct line of advance closed rank, save one.

The Death Eater with the light grey eyes found that simply by not moving he had ended up standing behind the back rank. Glancing to see what those to either side of him were doing – backs to him, dropping into dueling stances, heads jerking side to side, checking for additional threats – he eased around and, careful to mask his wand, pointed it at the back of the Death Eater standing in front of him, silhouetted by the barrage of spells the rear guard was firing at Hagrid and Grawp.

_Patience, Draco, old boy,_ he told himself silently. _No way those oafs found us by themselves._

He waited, casting frequent glances to both sides to ensure that no one could see where his wand was really pointing.

While he waited, he wondered fleetingly what the real story was with Granger and Snape.

He hoped he'd live long enough to find out.

/x/

The one part of Hermione's brain that wasn't silently screaming was reciting a passage from her Defense textbook: _"At point-blank range, the first effect of the Cruciatus Curse is to blind its victims. Whereas such effects are generally temporary…"_ With one hand still around Voldemort's finger and the other around Severus' neck, that same detached voice paused to note that her knees were starting to buckle.

Beside her, Severus held his neck and shoulders firmly rigid to support as much of her weight as he could without appearing to do so. Their Legilimantic connection shredded by the onslaught of Voldemort's rage, he could do nothing more to aid her. Knowing too well from first-hand experience that Cruciatus effects were cumulative – first physical, then mental – he silently willed her to stay on her feet, to stay strong, to fight…

But then he, too, was choking on his own breath. His eyes raking the trees wildly for the rest of the Order – Tonks' hair a beacon on one side of the constricting circle; Moody's eye glowing from between two Dementors – he felt all of his bonds flare simultaneously. _Not yet, Harry… not yet…_ As he forced himself to stay standing, to draw breath against the white-hot bands around his soul, itself in agony for Hermione, and through her for himself, he realized the message behind Draco's blink – as the fighting hadn't reached him yet, the boy must have turned on the Death Eaters. Despite his own inner war, the palest shadow of a smirk crossed his lips.

_Who's screaming? Who is that screaming? "At point-blank range, the effects…" Oh. It's me. Of course. "At point-blank range…" I can't see! "At point-blank…" Oh, gods, I can't see… "At point…" Severus, I'm sorry…_

Her knees were going; she was falling. With her last moment of independent will, before body and mind gave in to the thousand hot knives slicing lengthwise into each nerve, each bone, she forced herself to release her hold on Severus' neck and let all of her weight hang from Voldemort's finger.

It snapped at the joint.

_Good…_

And Tayet's wings beat in panic; a plaintive "Squeep!" as Hermione fell, twitching, to the ground.

/x/

"Harry – stay behind us! Ron – Ginny – stay with him!" Arthur ordered, as a frenzy of Dementors broke away from the main circle to descend toward them. He planted his feet, eyes blazing, and cast his own Patronus to join Molly's and Minerva's, which were already shielding the three behind them from the descending Darkness.

Harry had already started to bolt toward the deeper trees in the park, and he stumbled as Mr. Weasley's order brought him up short. Ron's hand flew to his elbow, stopping his fall.

"Harry," Ginny hissed, her wand out, her eyes sweeping up to where the Dementors hung silently, ragged robes straining backwards as they forced their wills against the Patronus shields. "Fix your shoelaces. Now!"

Ron couldn't suppress a glance at his own, which he had double-knotted before leaving the Burrow. His relief at finding them still firmly tied was completely out of proportion, and, in it, he recognized his own rising panic. A glance at Harry, who had dropped to one knee, fingers frantically working at his trainers, and he felt a lump rise in his throat.

/x/

A blur of talons, beak, and feathers left a trail of black dust and blood on the pale hand with the bent finger.

Hissing, Voldemort snatched for the phoenix above Hermione's falling shoulder.

His hand closed on empty air, and he whirled around at the giant's roar.

/x/

Perched on Hermione's chest, Tayet spread her wings and eyed Nagini coldly.

The snake was circling, coiling around Hermione's ankles, twining up her legs.

Tayet's beak opening in warning.

Nagini's tongue flickering in response.

/x/

The ground shook as Grawp thundered toward the rear guard, the tree he wielded raising for a sweeping strike, curses and hexes flying toward him more erratically as each Death Eater in his way fought a split-second battle between loyalty and survival.

Some of the spells hit home, slicing his skin open, showering them all in a misting rain of falling blood.

Grawp would feel them later, if at all.

Draco jerked his head aside as a spatter of blood glued a stray wisp of hair to the corner of his eye. Squeezing his eye shut, ignoring the scraping hair on the surface of his eye, he clenched his jaw against the bone-crashing pounding of Grawp's footsteps and tracked the arc of the tree as the giant drew it backwards –

_Patience…_

As the tree whipped downwards to sweep the ranks of the Death Eaters, their line wavered and moaned as more than one tried to bolt.

_Now._

Draco released the spell he'd been holding, then another.

Those who had tried to run were still falling slowly as Draco threw himself sideways, dragging his mother down with him, out of reach of the furiously whistling branches as they whipped past overhead.

In a breath of treason against a chorus of snapping tendons and shattered bones, Voldemort's rear guard was destroyed.

/x/

As the Dark Lord's concentration slashed toward the rampaging giant, Severus' mind was once more his own.

Behind him, the steady blue glow of the Orders' Patronuses and the brighter flashes of individual duels as the Death Eaters closed the circle around the Dark Lord. To one side, another blue glow, punctuated by the gleam of Moody's eye. To the other, the flash and fade of curse and countercurse as Lupin tried to fight his way to Tonks under a lowering cloud of Dementors. The glow of Tonks' Patronus fading as the Death Eaters closed on her.

Knowing that Lupin couldn't make it in time, Severus' gaze grew detached before it returned to Voldemort.

Before him, the Dark Lord was gliding carefully sideways, his wand deceptively lazy in his good hand, biding his time, not wasting a single spell against the bleeding giant who was, even now, stepping aside for Hagrid, the tree falling, forgotten, in his hand.

An inner release; an easier breath, another. So, Draco still lived. Perhaps he had run.

Knowing that Harry must yet be behind him, behind the thick of the fighting, Severus kept his wary eyes on the Dark Lord's back, dropping quickly to one knee to check Hermione

But instead of Hermione's body, his hand brushed scales, and he jerked his hand away, muscles freezing as Nagini hissed a warning.

Tayet's glare fixed on the snake, snake returning the bird's gaze impassively, sliding higher, closer on Hermione's body, tongue flickering toward the exposed skin at her stomach.

Her twisting fall had loosened her blouse, her smooth skin vulnerable to Nagini's deadly caress…

Severus' hand clenched on his wand – no – the snake not his to kill – a whispered urgency: _Protect her, little one._

His duty still before him, he stood guard, apart, distinguished from all others in his utter silence.

/x/

"What's happening?" Harry whispered.

"Can't see much," Ron said tightly. He had _not_ just seen his mother's Patronus flicker. He _hadn't._

"Get ready," Ginny said quietly, to Ron.

She had.

/x/

A low note, so low it cut beneath the raging shouts and cries of anguish and destruction full around them. Tayet's throat widened as the note took on a darker shape, pitching lower, a drone of anguished fury and vengeance promised should the crawling thing with its bold, looping tongue dare one single scale closer.

Nagini froze.

A flick of Tayet's head, an ancient dance – a seduction – the song so soft, so quiet, only for the snake, only for her, for Nagini, only for her, all for her…

Nagini's eyes a shadow softer, chin a fraction higher…

… all for her, its rhythm specific, its modulations coiling, calling, the song of the snake, the blackened siren, beckoning, up, up…

… entranced, still, empty eyes a following, no consideration, no story, just instinct…

… all for her, Tayet's neck a calculation, a variable, a constant, a low keen, a plaintive cry, a plea, a wish …

… and Nagini's head arose from Hermione's body, into the air, her movements a mirror of Tayet's own, her head higher, higher, Tayet's neck outstretched with the low song entwined invisibly around the snake's throat, higher, higher still…

… and seeing the snake about to strike that precious phoenix, Hagrid took aim and fired.

The bolt took Nagini through the eye.

And a flash of green light flew from Voldemort's wand, heading straight for Hagrid's heart.

/x/

As Molly fell, drained, panting, her youngest son stepped forward to take her place, his Patronus blazing forth, called from a memory so early he barely remembered it himself.

A sparkling of lights, a hush of snowfall – and the crinkling rustle of paper, a soft teddy happy in his arms.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw the light fade and, for a moment, his own Patronus wavered, but he heard Ginny's voice soft and low behind him.

"She's just knackered, Dad. Harry has her."

"Good lads, Harry, Ron!" Arthur shouted. His Patronus shone with full intensity once more, in defiance of the dampness on his cheeks.

/x/

"HAGGER!" Grawp bellowed, charging forth to knock his body out of the path of the light.

Hagrid shuddered as he fell, inches from Draco, who quickly rolled himself and his mother out of the way.

Whether Hagrid had been hit by Voldemort's curse or just by Grawp's sudden, sweeping blow, from where he lay among the dusty leaves, Draco could not tell.

He cradled his mother's head against the hard path as the battle raged around them.

/x/

Tayet backwinged away from Nagini's sudden thrashing, seeking the safety of Severus' shoulder as the snake's heavy coils writhed inward, constricting on themselves, sending dark sprays of blood spattering over Hermione as the soul-fragment within expended a last frenetic attempt to control the dying body.

"Squeep?" Tayet crooned softly, peering through Severus' hair as the coils began to lose tension, glistening in the reflected lights from spells.

Severus did not answer her. In the chaotic spectrum of flashing light and ever-changing shadows from the duels ranged around them, the blood on Hermione's face, on her skin, looked black.

He could not answer – not with gesture, nor with words.

For one last moment, he, Hermione, and Tayet existed, an island in a war in which both sides accounted them their own, and Severus' world narrowed.

He was scarcely aware of Voldemort's howl of cheated rage as the Dark Lord flew toward the giant...

… nor of Grawp batting Voldemort aside, picking up Hagrid's limp form and charging through the Death Eaters and Dementors surrounding Tonks, sending friend and foe tumbling aside with raging sweeps of his free arm…

… nor of the cries suddenly choked from those whom fate, decision, destiny or fear had placed beneath Grawp's indifferent feet as the giant blindly obeyed the one order he had ever really understood.

Severus' focus was all for Hermione as she lay, bloody and still, in the garish glare of forbidden spells and the counterspells of those bound – _By what? By choice? By nature? By accident? _– to stand against them.

Hermione stirred, her shaking hand fighting its way free of the limp, heavy coils, coming up instinctively to wipe her face, smearing the snake's blood across her cheeks, her forehead…

As Severus and Tayet watched, insensible to the chaos around them, Hermione worked her other arm free, shoving the dead snake finally aside, hands reaching for the solidity of the ground, seeking a clear space to plant her feet, slowly rising.

Her hair a gritty, bloody mass, hiding her face, she gestured uncertainly toward where Severus had been standing, where he yet stood.

_"I'm right here,"_ he thought quietly.

Her head turned toward him and he inhaled sharply – the smeared blood on her face a mask out of which her open eyes stared, unblinking, as the lights flashed directly into them.

Her thought, when it came, was a brittle rigidity of fury and fear. _"I can't see."_

_"I know."_

The silence hung between them.

Hermione's face seemed to search for his eyes, her fists clenched at her sides.

In a flash from behind him, in the shadow cast by his own body, Severus saw the silk package she held tightly within her grasp, saw a bit of white as she drew out the new wand.

In her mind, she felt a fluttering, silken caress – his hair, his cloak, his thought, his soul – the sound of wind, and she wrapped her mind around it –

and Severus smelled rain –

and they nodded.

Gathering his will from the contradictions of his soul, Severus drew his old wand for the last time.

He did not need to say the words aloud, and perhaps he should not have done, but with Hermione, bloodied, blinded, proud before him, his lips parted, and, his voice echoing in her soul, he breathed the words of the trapping spell, the words that would ensnare them both in a final, unforgivable dance with death:

_"Foris Clausa."

* * *

_

Note on chapter title: Like "Dies Irae," the phrase "Salva Me" ("Save Me") is from the text of the Requiem Mass.


	60. Libera Me

A/N: Special thanks are due to Anastasia, Luna, Ferporcel, Demon and Enigmatized, who all, in their various ways, contributed to this chapter. Also thanks to Potion Mistress for not minding too much that I bailed from the vQ for a day or so to get to a good writing place. Muchas gracias, amigo/as.

* * *

**Libera Me**

**(Set Me Free)**

_… Severus drew his old wand for the last time._

He did not need to say the words aloud, and perhaps he should not have done, but with Hermione, bloodied, blinded, proud before him, his lips parted, and, his voice echoing in her soul, he breathed the words of the trapping spell, the words that would ensnare them both in a final, unforgiving dance with death:

"Foris Clausa."

A falling surrounding heaviness, a dome of irradiated darkness overhead, around them, the ragged edges of the Dementors forced upward, away from them by the nature of the spell, allowing only living souls within its deadly embrace.

Cast out of the feast below, a cloud of Dementors wheeled about, scenting, and peeled away from the park in pursuit of the burdened giant. Those who remained drifted lazily, lowering.

Seeking.

Moody glanced up sharply as the Dementors between himself and Severus were forced upwards, away from him, by the trapping spell. Branches crashed around him from missed spells and curses. Flashes of light illuminating trees, backlighting lampposts and benches, oily spots of dessicating puddles on pathways shining in a dark rainbow flare one second, descending, consumed by their own depths the next.

A demonic carnival of light and shadow filtered to his mind through his magical eye as it whirled, seeking one particular darkness, one distinctive shadow…

_Click._

Severus' black cloak stretched taut across his shoulder blades.

A perfect target.

But Moody's eye was distracted by a graceful weaving in the air between them, as Voldemort's fingers entwined in the laden atmosphere.

Voldemort's lips parted to taste Severus' intent…

_… how often had he willed the same violation, sent the same reverberating echo pulsing through the night…_

James Potter had heard it.

So had Lily.

He had always wondered about the brat.

And then a thin, dry crackling sound shot through the park, undercutting hoarse shouts and yells and the splintering crashes as branches shattered, the grinding whine of twisting iron as bench frames absorbed deflected curses, reformed into twisted shapes, illuminated red, green, dying orange, as the battle consumed itself in its own rising fury.

A flash. Robes, spinning. Lights reflected in Minerva's spectacles, in the sparkling fang dangling from Bill's ear.

And above it all, below it all, cutting through the din, the thin crackling sound of a catching flame.

Voldemort was laughing.

Severus tensed at the sound and turned slowly, carefully angling his body so that he stood slightly between Voldemort and Hermione.

Moody's hand clenched on his wand as Voldemort appeared to float to his feet, his robes falling in a sibilant whisper as he straightened, the crackling laughter fading from his lips, his voice a seduction in the flashing darkness. "Severus, you have surprised me."

/x/

"Is Mum up yet?" Ginny breathed, backing slowly toward Harry and her mother as the remaining Dementors turned purposefully toward them.

"No," Harry said grimly, wiping the chocolate from his hands and stealing a glance at Ginny before mirroring her movements, sheltering Mrs. Weasley's limp form between them.

"What happened?" Ginny whispered, eyeing the Dementors.

"Trapping spell," Harry hissed between gritted teeth as he raised his wand to cast his Patronus.

"Wha-?"

"Hermione told me. _Expecto Patronum!_"

His voice and Ginny's echo bounced off the wavering amber-lit dome that separated them from the rest of the Order, their two Patronuses shining with promise as the heavy, rippling cloud lowered toward them.

/x/

At the far side of the dome, a single Dementor remained, drifting, a lone menace hovering over the mother and child inside as they picked themselves up, Narcissa moving Draco behind her with one arm as she realized the identity of the Death Eater sent tumbling upon them by Grawp's sweeping arm.

Bellatrix's eyes, hooded, cast into deepest shadow from the duels behind her, were fixed on Draco.

Narcissa did not know what he had done, but even in the deepening night she knew that look, some quality of her sister's intent stillness, too well. Narcissa's skin prickled, cold, in the heavy, lowering air. "Behind me," she said, quietly.

"But - "

"Now, Draco."

Bellatrix's eyes glittered hungrily as they flicked to and bored into her sister, pale skin glowing a sickly amber as the streetlights glowed to indifferent life outside the trapping spell and filtered, distorted through the dome, long hair freed of disheveled robes, ends raising to swirl slowly in the stiflingly charged air.

"Stand aside, Cissy." Bellatrix's wand was tracking on Narcissa's chest, her hair swirling slowly around her as the atmosphere under the dome crackled in time with Voldemort's laughter.

Narcissa shook her head, her hair streaming after the movement as if she were under water.

"Your son has failed us again, Cissy. Did you not see him? Or did you merely fail to stop him?" Her tone a low menacing whisper, her eyes hardened to steel. "Did you not want to stop him, Cissy? Stand. Aside." Bellatrix's words fell into the lowering air, sending a sharp note of menace rippling out toward to the perimeter of the dome.

/x/

Those dueling did not hear her, but the bonds of his vow to Narcissa tightened sharply as the ripple of Bellatrix's malice reached Severus where he stood facing the Dark Lord. In his peripheral vision, he saw Mad-Eye Moody's gleaming eye locked on him.

Although he betrayed no outward sign, his mouth went dry. _Blast._

Tayet's talons clenched on his shoulder, and her wings went wide in warning.

_Fly, little one,_ he thought. _Go to Hermione. Fly, love._

Eyes unblinking, cast blindly in the flashing cacophony around her, Hermione struggled to draw a choking breath as the Foris Clausa spell intensified, its charge amplified by the murderous intent of nearly everyone contained within its circle.

"Tayet," she cried, flinging an arm outward, even as Severus commanded the phoenix to fly.

An inky black arrow silhouetted against a backdrop of an exploding nightmare, Tayet streaked from Severus' shoulder to Hermione's outstretched forearm.

"Squeep?" Tayet shrilled, leaning her sooty head toward Hermione's unblinking eyes.

Hermione turned toward the phoenix's voice, and gasped sharply as she saw one small, minute, gleaming speck of red some distance from her.

_Oh… _Hermione thought. _Oh!_ Severus' voice in her memory, _"… in the right darkness…"_

In her blindness, through the film of blood that still covered her open eyes, the one thing she could see was the deep crimson glow of Tayet's tear in Severus' hair.

_Tayet's tear… of course… but – _

Then the tear moved. Behind it, another unwavering glow. Pale – no color.

The colorless glow seemed to be tracking the tear.

"No," Hermione breathed. "No." _Who?_ Her mind worked frantically. Then - _Moody._

Her skin grew icy as her world shuttered to the two small gleams of light, and she felt for her old wand with her free hand.

/x/

Kingsley dodged as a sudden crack overhead sent another tree splintering into falling shards. He dispatched the last of the Death Eaters near him and, finding Bill holding his own against a pair of Death Eaters to his left and Lupin's wand blazing in a duel to his right, Kingsley risked a glimpse behind him.

He met Minerva's eyes, her parchment-white face a punctuation of shock in the senseless chaos of flickering destruction around them.

"Harry?" he mouthed.

Wordlessly she gestured toward the dome.

"Outside?" he breathed, his eyes flaring wide, the reflections from Lupin's duel flashing in his eyes.

She nodded.

_Damn!_

It was all he had time to think before one of the Death Eaters turned away from Bill and sent a sudden flash of green light his way.

Minerva closed her eyes briefly – a reflex – but still saw the image of his surprise. Her fingers tightened around her wand as she turned toward the advancing Death Eater.

/x/

Tonks picked herself up nimbly, a jet of ropes spraying from her wand as branches crashed to the ground around her from a series of spells gone madly random during Grawp's charging flight.

The husky Death Eater she'd been fighting shuddered in vain against his sudden bonds, his small eyes narrowing as his fingers twitched against the ropes, trying to aim his wand.

Tonks grabbed his wand out of his swelling fingers, then, as she straightened, she saw Kingsley fall.

Her fingers snapped the Death Eater's wand in half.

It was against regulations, but she didn't care.

A flick of her ragged, falling hair as she dropped again into fighting stance, and, ignoring the involuntary tears freshening her cheeks, she backed up to the edge of the dome, reading the battle with young, hard eyes.

/x/

Beyond the limits of the dome, Harry and Ginny were holding the Dementors at bay, their Patronuses shielding Molly as she lay, unmoving, on the ground between them.

Ginny didn't take her eyes off her Patronus, channeling her will into holding it steady. "Harry."

"Yeah?" Harry said, forcing his voice out from between his teeth as he maintained his determined focus on the Dementors.

"I used a different memory this time," Ginny said calmly, as though she were relaxing against his knee in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry's Patronus glowed incandescent, pushing the Dementors back several feet.

Ginny chuckled.

A slow, satisfied smile spread on Harry's face as he answered, "Me too, Gin."

And Ginny's Patronus grew brighter in response.

Between them, Molly Weasley was stirring. She opened her eyes just time to see her daughter flash a quick, knowing smile over her shoulder.

"Such a nice smile," Molly thought dazedly, pushing herself up onto her hands.

/x/

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw bright, twin flares through the dome's transluscence, bright enough to overwhelm the duels inside and the diseased, reddening orange glow that was beginning to pulse from the dome itself. Even as he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the Dark Lord and Moody, a taut immobility at the epicenter of confusion, his mind sifted through several probabilities and supplied the likeliest interpretation: Harry was somehow outside the _Foris Clausa_ dome.

Even as Harry's position registered in his conscious mind, he had shifted his weight, calculating the relative positions of the Dark Lord, Harry, and the Order.

He and Hermione were between the Dark Lord and Harry.

That would have to change, and quickly.

His eyes a blank mirror masking the crystalline structure of his mind, his thoughts speeding through the analysis that would determine his next decision, likely his last – the formless decision he had been stalking for nearly two decades, through countless despairing moments of blood, rage, pain, terror, agony, guilt and shame, and, finally, unlooked for, love - the greatest despair of all...

Drawing balance from the tension between his thought and the ground under his feet, his muscles relaxed, poised, his mind focused only on the moment, the fate of the wizarding world literally rested on his next movement.

The world balanced on that one decision, its form finally clear:

_Right? Or left?_

/x/

Draco's wary eyes were unblinking as he edged his wand arm out from behind his mother's back.

"Cissy, Cissy… your son betrayed us. Stand aside," Bellatrix crooned, edging catlike on the balls of her feet, her voice simmering through the air as she met her sister's eyes coolly.

Narcissa stood coiled, tense, turning by calculated degrees as Bellatrix circled her.

She was no match for her sister in a duel – Bellatrix's cunning was that of madness, and of all of the Black sisters, Narcissa had only and ever been brittly sane. She could buy her son one moment, a chance. Only that.

She was a mother. It was all she had ever done, all she would ever do.

Sensing Draco's readiness behind her, she cast a grateful thought to the uncaring universe that in this her son was truly his father's. Meeting Bellatrix's gleam of madness, Narcissa called on the blood magic that was hers by right. Hers, not the childless Bellatrix's.

It bought her one blow.

Only Tonks heard Narcissa's curse, an old curse that she'd learned from her mother, only usable by a mother in defense of a child. As she watched both witches crumple, felled by a magic more ancient even than memory, even as she saw Draco's pale eyes widen, his mouth opening in a shout she could not hear, Tonks heard her mother's voice: _"Passion, desperation, and sacrifice, Nymphadora – almost always fatal. You leave it right alone."_

Tonks' shocked eyes met Draco's, and a shared understanding passed between them.

Without knowing why, Tonks nodded.

/x/

Even as his wand flashed in blindingly fast counterpoint to the Death Eater's curses and hexes flying toward him, deflecting off his shields and countercurses, Arthur Weasley saw his eldest son go down.

His chest tightened and he poured all of his power into a Shield Charm, holding it while his frantic eyes swept the circle for an ally.

A flash of light illuminated the pale, wide-eyed face of his youngest boy moving forward to take his brother's place.

"No," Arthur breathed, as Ron, still wide-eyed, dropped into dueling stance before the Death Eater's mocking grin.

A movement to Arthur's right – a steady glow revealed from behind a rippling cloak.

"Alastor!" Arthur yelled, frantically pouring his will into his wavering Shield. "Help Ron!"

And his Shield failed, and he lost sight of Ron as the Dark spells once again flew toward him.

At Arthur's shout, Mad-Eye's magical eye whirled away from Severus, sweeping toward young Weasley boy.

_Whirr - click._

In some corner of his mind, Moody noted Ron's double-knotted shoelaces.

_Vigilant._

A split-second of coiling tension, and Moody send a jet of writhing light arcing to the Death Eater's wand arm, encircling it at the wrist, jerking it around behind him, and, at a flick of his wand tip - _Up._

A loud _crunch_ as the Death Eater was jerked upward, off his feet, hanging from Moody's hex by his dislocated arm, his wand a useless wooden toy in a clattering roll along the hard path below him.

Ron's eyes widened in shock at the Death Eater's sudden roar of pain. Ron stared as the dark figure jerked, suspended in the air, then pitched forward, poised to fall straight onto him.

For a moment, Ron couldn't move. Then, at the last second, he threw himself sideways.

Straight into the arcing path of a spell that Minerva had just deflected.

A sparking hiss as the curse licked a line from shoulder to hip, his body jack-knifing from the force of the spell, a jet of blood a pulsing spray, spattering the lenses of Minerva's glasses and the dome behind her.

Ron fell in a shudder to the ground. His eyes were open, but the flashes of light around him grew dim as the sounds of battle faded in his ears.

/x/

A gust of stale wind blew a strand of Ginny's hair across her cheek, and as she raised her hand to push it behind her ear, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. Maintaining her concentration on her Patronus, moving her feet carefully, she adjusted the angle of her body for a better look.

An arching spray of droplets had appeared on the dome. As Ginny watched, the droplets swelled and began to trail slowly downward.

Against the red-amber of the dome, dimly lit from within by muted flares of battle, the trails were ominously dark, ominously slow.

"Harry," Ginny said quietly. "The dome is bleeding."

/x/

Minerva's shoulders sagged as her Petrificus Hex finally immobilized the young Death Eater. She reached heavily for her glasses to wipe the blood from them, and found Lupin at her elbow, drawing her behind a tree. "Rest here," he said urgently.

"_RON!_" Arthur yelled. In his panic, the strength of his Protego Charm was enough to send the Death Eater he'd been fighting flying into one of the shattered trees.

The Death Eater hung, twitching, impaled on the sharp jaws of a broken branch.

Arthur did not see the Death Eater die. He was already running.

But Hermione had heard Arthur's shout, and was on her feet, Tayet taking frantic wing overhead.

"RON?" Hermione screamed, turning blindly. "_RON!_"

And Voldemort turned his cold eyes toward her and returned her unblinking, unknowing stare as the last of the Death Eaters dropped behind her, as the sounds of the battle, so loud moments before, faded to the moans of the fallen, the dying.

"Your offering is wanting, Severus." Voldemort's voice was almost casual as he fixed his empty eyes on Hermione, raising his wand.

Hermione froze.

An airless silence as Voldemort saw her tension, tasted her fear on the air, and felt her heartbeat quicken, fluttering, deep in his blood. His voice carried through the pulsing air, driving ice into through the hearts of the Order members as they watched, waiting, a broken circle – Minerva and Lupin's hands resting unconsciously on each other's arms; Arthur, standing silently over his fallen sons. On the other side of the dome, Tonks and Draco stood unmoving, Tonks' eyes flat, Draco blinking more than usual.

In the few seconds of expectant silence that rang, laden, in the dome, no one breathed. Not even the leaves on the path were moving.

But the tip of Moody's wand twitched. Once more, he had a clear shot at Severus' back.

Severus inclined his head to the Dark Lord. "She is a disappointment." His decision made, he stepped to his left, taking up position at Voldemort's right hand.

As Severus moved, Mad-Eye Moody's eye swiveled with an audible _whirr_, and both gleams of light disappeared, lost to Hermione's sight.

Hermione's old wand was already raised. _Faith, Granger._ She remembered the touch of Severus' voice in her blood, sweep of his hair on her skin, and his laughter in her mind. She closed her eyes and remembered. "_Expecto Patronum!_" she cried, and a burst of starlit blue flew from her wand.

Her startled otter shot straight at Moody, up his body, and to his face, where it perched over his magical eye, blindingly bright, flaring Moody's vision into a scattered pattern of bright spots and flashes.

The otter waggled its paws angrily, and Voldemort's mouth opened in its not-smile. "Ingenious," he said, inclining his head to Severus. "Her loyalty to you is certain, but her instinct to use a Light spell under such tense circumstances – " Some air escaped through Voldemort's open mouth. Not quite a hiss. "The phoenix looks to her, at present?"

The Order held its collective breath. Severus nodded, once, his eyes alight from within, growing harder.

"Well, then." More crackling laughter as Voldemort's fingers waved decadently, in corrupt imitation of the otter's paws. "The witch is too chaotic to trust, Severus," he finished, his voice dropping with an air of finality.

Severus had heard the tone before, and knew what Voldemort was ordering him to do. His eyes hard, sharp; his tone a harsh, finely-honed blade. "Granger."

Hermione turned toward his voice, keeping her will steady on her Patronus.

_"It's time, my love."_

_"I can't see you."_

_"Follow my voice."_

Hermione switched wands behind the folds of her robes and took one step to the right. Again, the tell-tale red gleam. She exhaled slowly.

Severus' new wand was nearly invisible in the darkness as he pointed it straight at Hermione's heart, his hand pale, disembodied, floating as if controlled by a will other than his own.

His voice the softest caress in the darkness –

"_Avada Kedavra._"

* * *

Note: Like the preceding chapter titles, "Libera Me" is a phrase from the Requiem Mass.


	61. Ex Favilla

A/N: Special thanks to Psychokelli for the latenight beta, and, as always, to Anastasia/TTFS (this time for sending Ana!Snape to hex the United counter), and a special thanks to my students and others who kept me so well distracted that this chapter had time to grow slowly. My especial thanks to my readers for their patience...

* * *

_His voice the softest caress in the darkness –_

"Avada Kedavra."

Even as Severus' voice satisfied the ravenous, patient terms of the trapping spell, enfolding Hermione within its lethal intent – even as his words fell in the darkness, his eyes locked on hers, unseeing, as the deadly spell arced toward her, the searing bands of vow and compulsion as nothing beside the ice blooming in his heart, in his veins, his blood, the green tracery from his wand shock-poisoning the leaden air, Hermione's eyes fixed on the point of red in the darkness and she fired her silent response: "_Expelliarmus._"

Two jets of light, fired in consciousness, in blindness, from beyond the outer limits of the human heart, from beyond hope, beyond love, beyond despair, in her eyes the light of a single red tear, and in her mind…

_… a jackal wagging its tail…_

… a mirror's breath on her skin…

… the cold chains on her cheek on her swing-set in her parents' backyard…

… "Come home."

And the ways of chaos converged, and impossibility and faith met, ensnared, conjoined across the space between them.

Two spells from two virgin wands born of the same phoenix, the phoenix of chaos born of passion, desperation, and sacrifice, born on the line between Light and Dark, and, out of the chaos of love, desire, and a small, playful bird, the _Priori Incantatem_ effect burst from arcing lines from outstretched wands and outflung arms and the outpouring of heart and mind, body and soul, and Hermione and Severus divided by zero at last.

They held the line of light steady between them, and Hermione's vision began to clear, radiating outward from the sparkling red pinpoint of Tayet's tear, to a dark sweep of hair, a pale neck, a mask, a shimmer, and she sought his eyes.

His eyes a burning darkness alight and wide, his breath filling her mind, _"I'm right here."_

Two smiles, born of sadness, born of loss, born in the aching solace of greeting.

And from the ultraviolet line conjoining wands, minds, hearts, and souls, a shimmering veil descended like slow rain, rippling in the wind of their unthinkable faith.

The edges of the dome began to lift toward its apex, and, _Foris Clausa_ satisfied by Severus' Unforgivable Curse, the dome spiraled, falling upward, inward, consuming itself toward its own center, where there fluttered a small, very young, very dirty phoenix.

The dome coiled in on itself, concentrating to a single, burning pinpoint of incandescent light.

Tayet caught the tiny light in her beak and swallowed it.

And as the Order watched, awestruck, the soot on her blackened feathers lifted, swirled around her, and burst open, a radiant blaze of shining darkness in the air behind her outstretched wings.

Voldemort saw none of this.

The curtain of the dome had risen to reveal Harry Potter, and Voldemort stopped smiling.

As Voldemort's eyes fell on Harry, Severus felt his Vow to Lily and the burning of the Compulsion constrict, and he steeled his mind against the urge to sweep his wand toward Voldemort to protect Lily's son. Liquid fire ran in his veins in protest, and he drew in a sharp breath. Hermione's eyes raised to his in alarm as she felt the force of the line they held between them alter. Not daring break her concentration, she watched his eyebrows furrow sharply, then smooth into their usual shape as he willed himself once more to control.

The Order fell away, wands raised, stepping backward to form a semi-circle behind the young wizard, whose green eyes swept the carnage, passing over the strange veil fluttering between Hermione and Snape to come to deathly rest on the unmoving form of his best friend before him, to one side.

"Ron," he heard Ginny whisper, Molly but a breath catching at his other shoulder, and, raising his wand, he turned his eyes, finally, to Voldemort.

For a moment, all was silence save for the rustling of Tayet's wings as she hovered over them.

"Har-" Voldemort began.

"No," Harry said flatly, cutting his name off from Voldemort's voice. "This ends now."

At the note of resolve in Harry's voice, in his "No," Severus' heart tightened – he had heard that resolution, that rejection before. _Her son._ His eyes brightened, but he refused to blink.

Tayet soared, talons outstretched to the center of the softly waving silvered curtain that fell suspended from the black light between their wands. Driving her talons into the impossibility of its substanceless form, she held its center steady, forcing it to bend, forming a curve, a concavity of the unknown.

"Squerk," she said firmly, the cadence of the universe in her voice.

Hermione had seen something darken in Severus' eyes, but it disappeared with Tayet's voice, and his eyes locked on hers, flicking once to the right, and back to her. She nodded once, and took a careful step to her left.

As they began to move, slowly, silently, drawing even with Voldemort, Harry's young eyes hardened as he saw Voldemort nod, felt his eyes move to his scar. Voldemort's eyes glowed intense, red, and Harry felt the familiar searing pain and his vision blurred and misted over his sight rippling, fading...

… and in Harry's mind, scales rustling, a whisper: _"You are mine, Potter."_

_"No."_

Harry heard a sliding scale of falling laughter as Voldemort's thoughts coiled around his mind.

And Severus watching Harry, black eyes locked on green, with piercing clarity, senses and perception extended to outer limits, waiting for the moment when Harry's pupils would relax and lose focus… edging nearer the Dark Lord, Hermione mirroring his movements, both stepping closer to the Dark Lord, drawing the ends of the spell closer, closer…

… and in Harry's mind, the voice again, seeming to come from his own mind, his own will, his own heart. _"Your will is as nothing to mine, Potter. You will fail."_

_Hagrid's pink umbrella, Dudley with a pig's tail... "NO."_

… and in Hermione's mind, Severus' voice nodded, _"Now."_

And Severus and Hermione drew the edges of the curving, rippling shadow together around Voldemort's body, drawing wand tip to touch to wand tip, and Tayet released the arc, and the veil shadowed around the body, whispering it to nothingness, without even as much as a sigh to mark its passing.

The two lowered their wands, and Tayet fluttered to Hermione's shoulder.

Their hour was spent, and they turned to Harry, watching, and waiting.

/x/

"What's that?" Draco asked in disbelief, from the far edge of the battle. He had stayed on his feet when his mother had fallen, sheer force of will keeping him upright – something was wrong with his knees, he didn't know what, he felt himself detach and start to sway.

"No idea," Tonks breathed in reply, absorbed by the spectacle of Hermione, Severus, and Tayet curving something that blocked their view of Voldemort and Harry. She didn't notice that her breath was forming vapor clouds as the ragged fluttering above them drew nearer, no longer barred from attack.

/x/

Harry's eyes completely blank, closed, his every instinct, strength, power turned inward against the alien presence within himself.

Insistently, echoing from within his very bones, a whispering strategy formed – a strategy of dominance, of supremacy, of limitless power. _"You are mine, Potter. My tool."_

The strategy almost felt as though it were his own. _Sirius' barking laughter... "No."_

Again a dry crackle, that only Harry could feel as it slid, spiking underneath his skin. _"You will be."_

/x/

_Whirr..._ Another clear shot, but – no – he had moved.

_Whirr… whirr… _

Moody's brow furrowed as his eye whirled madly, refusing to focus.

He scowled. _What is that?_ A dark cascade from the Darkest of Curses, no doubt.

So many down. Moody couldn't see how many remained standing; why couldn't he see…

_Click._

There.

/x/

Perhaps the part of Voldemort residing in Harry felt his body dissipate, foiled by a simple, fluttering suggestion of what cloth might be. Perhaps that part of his soul he had willingly severed and unwittingly placed in submission to the destiny he had murdered to avoid, Voldemort panicked. Harry only felt the pitch of his thoughts rise, his mind seeming to scent the flicker of doubt in the insistent hiss of _"Mine!"_

_Dumbledore's half-moon glasses... "No!"_

/x/

A semicircle of faces, worried, waiting, reflecting the refracted glow of distant streetlights…

… a twist of tangled bodies, bloodied, bleeding on the ground…

… the unmistakable sound of a mother, weeping, focus torn between the fate of her sons and that of her world…

… the watching hearts beating, breathing rapid, silent, frantic, hoping, the youngest scarcely daring breathe at all…

… a soul on the precipice between life and despair…

… a young woman with warm brown eyes tired in a mask of blood, reaching an unconscious hand to her lover's arm, darkly warm beside her…

… a pale hand to radiant purple wings, a softly arching neck reaching…

… small dark button eyes breaking into the scene watching the internal struggle on a plane only she could see and not even she could understand…

… pale blond and strawberry pink edging closer, from leafy shadow to glowing light leaving the dead behind, over debris, drawn forward, blind to the fluttering shape drawing closer behind…

… and a final _Click_ as an indifferent eye governed by a will ever sorting, dividing, a binary judge focused, locked on an undifferentiated field of darkness on a shadowed plain.

A hiss should not shout, "_Mine,_" and a "_No!_" is no shield; destruction poised in a deafening, menacing "_Yes,_" and the fate of the world hanging on a word, a single word:

_Ginny, lying, her hair a script of red in a deepening pool of blackest ink... _

_"Never."_ And as he thought it, that quiet, absolute refusal, Harry knew it was true, knew it as truth, and so a child becomes a man, and so a word, an arbitrary sound, may shape the real, and thus it was, and thus it was done.

And as Harry, just Harry, himself as he should always have been, sank, depleted, emptied, exhausted, to the ground, only Hermione saw the familiar Harry return, hazily, briefly, and finally, into his eyes once more.

Tayet's eyes traveled upward, her neck arching as she followed the invisible line that had been the last of Voldemort's soul, following it, watching it fray, unravel, and dissipate, sifting as smoke through a filter of summer leaves to wash forever amongst a sky distant with stars.

Moody might have been able to see it, too, had he looked.

He didn't. He had a bead on Severus' back once more.

A vicious slash of green in the mundane light of streetlamps - _"Avada Kedavra."_

The Curse streaked from Moody's wand, but Tayet was faster, swooping against the arcing light to burst into flames, falling to ashes on the dusty pathway.

Her tiny, newborn "Squeep?" was lost behind Hermione's furious cry as the remaining members of the Order burst into a storm of sound.

The one remaining Dementor swooped into a dive, accelerating, driven toward this new, passionate agony with a terrible, insatiable hunger.

It was starving.

And as the Order's wands flared to life to shield Severus, Hermione wheeled toward the Dementor as it dove for Tayet, and shouted, "Mine!" - and her Patronus shot forth with such fury that the Dementor exploded in a shower of ragged fabric that paused, suspended, as if surprised by its own sudden formlessness, then drifted downward, fluttering, settling finally into a falling silence.

Minerva's gasp was loud in the silence that still echoed with the force of Hermione's rage. All eyes were on Hermione's Patronus, which paced a stiff circle around the baby Tayet and glared at all of them, baring its teeth.

It was a jackal.

Hermione saw it, and her arm fell to her side, and she whispered, "Mine."

The tears that had sprung unbidden to trail her cheeks clean of blood were echoed behind Severus' mask.

* * *

_Note: The chapter title, "Ex Favilla," is from the Requiem Mass, and is usually transated as "from the ashes."_


	62. Dona Eis Requiem

A/N: _A Walking Shadow_ is dedicated to Anastasia/TTFS and PRose, for their unquenchable faith and friendship.

To my readers, a final, quill-flourishing bow of gratitude. If you think this story is about you, it is.

* * *

**Dona Eis Requiem**

**(Grant Them Rest)**

_Hermione saw it, and her arm fell to her side, and she whispered, "Mine."_

The tears that had sprung unbidden to trail her cheeks clean of blood were echoed behind Severus' mask.

Thoughts stilled in the deep, silent place where he focused his will, Moody scarcely registered the Order angling their Shield Charms between him and Severus. A rush of voices beat outside the quiet in his mind – shouts, a shrill, sharp command, all telling him to stand down, that Severus was with them – but if Moody heard them, he betrayed no sign. His wand twitched as Severus turned slowly to face him.

The reflection of Hermione's Patronus faded from Severus' eyes. "Arrest me."

Moody dropped his weight a fraction lower, poised, tensed, drawing breath to cast.

"Perhaps you need an ear to match your eye?" Severus drawled, cocking an eyebrow. "Arrest me."

"And me," said Draco, his voice a hollow echo in his ears as he turned to offer his wand to Tonks. "Cousin," he acknowledged, with a nod.

Tonks' voice was low and thick as she murmured the words of a shackling spell.

Severus' eyes locked darkly on Moody's. "Take them," he ordered.

_"Them"?_ Moody's magical eye swiveled downward to find two wands resting in Severus' open palm. _Two?_ Jerked by surprise out of his lethal focus, Moody swore, and, with two quick slashing motions, he bound Severus' offered wrists.

The bonds cut deep.

And Severus' face revealed nothing.

Hermione stood, breathing heavily, as the Order erupted into motion around her. Between moving bodies and flowing robes she caught only a glimpse of Severus' hair before Minerva swept her aside.

"The Ministry has arrived," Minerva hissed into her hair, pulling her into Side-along Apparition. "I'm taking you back to Hogwarts."

/x/

The trial of Severus Snape became, of course, the social event of the season. Witches and wizards from around the world came to see, be seen, to listen and be heard, and, although the testimony of Dumbledore's portrait and Pensieve were finally allowed, the trial stretched from one week to two, through July, to the beginning of August.

From their rooms at St. Mungo's, Harry and Ron read each day's reports in _The Daily Prophet_ with increasing confusion, arguing what little they had seen into blurry memory that finally defied recollection, colored as it inevitably was by biased reporting, the accounts of the Order members who visited daily, and the way of young men to remember their own embellishments over the evidence of their eyes.

Neither had seen very much, after all, although both had seen far too much.

One afternoon, after a visit from a still-limping but ever-beaming Hagrid, Harry sat by the window, distractedly rubbing his shoulder, which was sore from a particularly misty thumping from the half-giant. "Ron," he said quietly.

"Mmphg?" Ron asked, around a mouthful of Chocolate Frog. Stacks of get-well cards and sweets were piled high by both boys' beds, and more came in daily from wizards and witches (mostly witches) throughout Great Britain.

"Where do you suppose they're keeping Hermione?"

"Homphrts," Ron said, then swallowed and tried again. "Hogwarts," he said. "Ginny told me, last time she nicked out of Bill's room to get away from Fleur."

Bill's recovery was slow, slow enough that Mrs. Weasley was still driven to tears at the thought of her eldest son's suffering, but the Healers expected a nearly full recovery.

"You'd think she'd give them the slip, to see us," Harry said.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, reaching for another envelope and opening it. "Hey, Harry. This one sent a picture… take a look at her - "

Whatever Ron had been about to say was drowned out by the entrance of Ginny and Fleur in full cry.

With a fleeting smile at Ginny, Harry turned again to the window.

/x/

Hermione spent the weeks of the trial ignoring the copies of _The Daily Prophet_ that Dobby brought her every morning with her breakfast. Minerva and the staff watched her, worried, as she grew more silent and spent more and more time on her own, withdrawing from interaction as soon as was polite, claiming a desire to spend her days preparing for classes and N.E.W.T.s. But as the trial dragged on, Hermione dropped even the pretense of studying, sitting for hours at a time by the arched Library windows, watching Tayet zooming over the lake, apparently lost in thought.

Her fingers were never far from the two-way mirror she carried in her pocket.

She could hear every word of the trial. Every description, every detail of every act the man she loved had committed, twisted for maximum horror, maximum effect, a leaden, measured prosecution pointing toward the annihilation of a soul they had, between them, so recently rendered whole.

And bound as he was to the accused's chair, Severus could not reach his own mirror, but he could feel her touch – every time she flinched, every time she recoiled, and every time she frowned at a particularly inept rhetorical move.

Whenever she frowned, he smiled, causing no small consternation in the galleries.

Each night he returned to his cell to find her jackal waiting for him.

It carried no message, and was all the message he needed.

In the end, it was Mad-Eye Moody who proved that Severus Snape was no threat to Wizarding Britain. For a month, Moody's accounts of Severus' inglorious service to Lord Voldemort kept the Wizarding world titillated, with each new atrocity he recounted to be savored and discussed over countless tea-tables and endless frothy pints.

But finally, by special arrangement, Dumbledore's portrait was allowed to examine the witness.

He asked only one question: "What would it take, Alastor, to prove to you that Severus Snape poses no threat to these good witches and wizards, nor to any anywhere?"

Moody's eye whirled angrily, and he thumped his wooden leg beneath his chair for emphasis. "Foe-Glass," he spat. "I want a look at him in my Foe-Glass."

And not only Moody, but the entire Wizengamot, and much of the population of Wizarding Britain, were given just that chance.

For three full weeks, Severus Snape stood shackled in the Ministry atrium, positioned before Moody's Foe-Glass, and any who wished could stand between them to see for themselves that he cast no shadow in the mirror.

Hermione's touch remained with him throughout.

And every night, when, unbound and alone, he could finally reach his own half of the mirror, his breath whispered the same words against Hermione's skin: "Have faith."

"But he cast Unforgiveables!" chorused the more conservative members of the Wizengamot. "He's admitted it! There can be no leniency – they are, by very name, Unforgiveable!"

"I have long thought that perhaps the name should be changed," Dumbledore's portrait mused, calmly, and not long after the trial the Wizengamot issued an administrative decree stating that the Unforgiveable Curses be renamed "Unthinkable." For reasons no one seemed inclined to explore, that name that seemed to deepen the twinkle in the canvas' eyes.

Finally cleared of all charges, Severus Snape disappeared from public view for a full week. His whereabouts caused much speculation. "Durmstrang," said some. "Family estate on the coast of Ireland. Unplottable," said others. One rumor even placed him on the outskirts of Havana, but, as that rumor was found to originate with the Weasley twins after a particularly exuberant evening in the Leaky Cauldron, it was quickly dismissed.

/x/

"Hermione."

Hermione awoke just before dawn to his voice on her cheek, and opened her eyes to find her hand curled around the mirror.

"I'm here," she murmured to the mirror, blinking awake to see Tayet's cocked head reflecting in the mirror's smooth surface. As it did every morning, Hermione's hand rose to the phoenix's neck, which was arched over her own.

Hermione rolled onto her stomach, holding the mirror before her on the pillow.

Severus felt her hair fall over its surface; Hermione felt his breath catch.

"Squirp?" Tayet asked hopefully, stretching her neck out to nudge the mirror with her beak.

Hermione laughed softly, and felt Severus' answering smile.

His amusement dry, his voice gentle, "I'm not under the mirror, little one."

"Squeeeeep," Tayet complained, climbing over Hermione's shoulder to poke at the mirror again. "Squeep!"

"Where are you?" Hermione whispered.

"I'm right here." His voice came not from the mirror, but from the doorway, and whether Tayet was first to his shoulder or Hermione into his arms was a matter for later -

For now they stood, his eyes locked, dark, with hers, hers darkening her answer, and, in the stillness of time, after innocence, before forever, they stood, together, against a past receding into tomorrow, in the slow, lingering knowledge of a shared silence too strong for words.

Some hours later, they awoke to Tayet's talons clicking on the stone window ledge.

"Squirp!" she announced, peering through the panes at the sun sparkling on the lake. "Squirp!"

Severus arose to unlatch the window, and as he watched her take wing, he felt Hermione's hand sweep under his hair to his neck. Her arm curled around his waist, resting gently on his hip, and, feeling her warm at his back, he exhaled, his arm coming up to cover hers.

They stood thus for a moment, in the warm sunlight, and he turned to face her.

"Hermione, I – "

His gaze fell on an iridescent silver fox that was pacing the floor, and he closed his eyes. "Minerva," he sighed.

Hermione stiffened, and turned in his arms.

A few short, hasty, and decidedly awkward minutes later, they were standing in the Headmistress' office, each holding a creamy white envelope.

"Albus told me about these, and their contents, this morning. He left them for you, before… well…" A fleeting shadow crossed her face, but it soon passed, and she regarded them with sparkling eyes. "Now, if I may, I will excuse myself for a moment - I have things to attend to. Mr. Filch is driven to distraction by the Slytherin emerald, and will not listen to reason about its permanence. It simply will not re-set to zero..."

The closing of the door echoed a bit too loudly as they looked at their names, spelled out in Dumbledore's spidery handwriting, and then at each other.

"Well," Hermione began, but Severus' hand was on her cheek, his lips were on hers, and then they looked at each other, not moving. For a moment they stood, still, touching, then they separated and opened their letters.

_My dear Miss Granger,_

With tremendous hope and faith I imagine you reading this letter as I write. I do so hope that day will come, and if it should, I trust that what you have learned and experienced will steady you through the next year and provide a foundation for the glorious future you so richly deserve.

An old man's fond indulgence, perhaps, but, as you are reading this, not misplaced.

And it is with tremendous pleasure...

Hermione's eyes flew over the letter.

_Well done._

Wishing you the best of times, as always, I remain,

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore  
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

It had been almost his last official act as Headmaster.

Almost.

_Severus,_

I trust that you will someday find it in yourself to forgive yourself for fulfilling the unthinkable burden I placed on you. Perhaps never quite completely - although I do hope and wish it for you. For you, I think, forgiveness will have to come from without before it can begin within. Dear boy, do try to embrace both.

I dare not ask that you try to forgive me as well, but perhaps, with time...

But time grows short (a phrase I've always found particularly delightful), and although there is much to be said I must limit myself to two topics. The first, which will, if you read this, come as a small shock, is...

Severus found himself blinking quite forcefully to keep the thin handwriting in focus.

_As for the second, know that even now, hearing Harry on the stair, I thank you, my dear boy, for everything._

With gratitude, and, whether you will it or no, love,

Albus

Severus and Hermione looked up from their letters and regarded each other with wide, serious eyes.

Finally, Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Professor Snape, I presume?"

He inclined his head formally. "Miss Granger... " His mouth twisted wryly. "I assume congratulations are in order?"

She nodded, unable to keep the sparkle out of her eyes.

He raised his hand gently to touch her hair, but stopped himself, his fingers closing against the stare of the collected Heads of Hogwarts on the walls. His hand fell to his side, and he found he had to clear his throat. "Then may I be the first…"

Her eyes sparkled, and her smile revealed a dimple he'd never paused to appreciate.

He cleared his throat, and finished, "… to congratulate you?"

"Thank you... sir."

The collective hush of the Heads' portraits was palpable.

Had they looked out the window, they would have seen a small flash of purple over the sparkling lake, but their eyes were for each other.

A long look, in which everything that had passed between them, everything that was still between them, and the glorious unpatterned unknown of what might yet be, after... a long moment of laden silence, and then they smiled.

Very complicated smiles. Proud, wistful, dry, amused, profound; smiles of tribute, accomplishment, acknowledgment; of courage and strength; of love, honor, and respect...

... and patience.

Glancing at Dumbledore's portrait, Severus made a decision. "Because I should hate to endure the lengths to which your Housemates will no doubt go to overcome even a token advantage - for the defeat of Voldemort, I award one point to Gryffindor."

She couldn't help a small laugh.

"For faith, Hermione."

Her laugh quieted.

"I shall deny it, of course."

"Of course."

"And do not expect any more."

She snorted. "If I earn them, then of course I shall expect them. And you... Professor," she blushed, then rolled her eyes, "I trust you will not fail to award points that are rightfully earned by _any_ House this year?"

Their eyes flashed in mutual challenge.

A quiet "Bravo" from Dumbledore, a sigh of rustling pages from the book resting in his lap, and the collected Heads of Hogwarts stood in their frames and broke into applause.

"Shove over, Phineas!" came Mrs. Black's piercing whisper. "I can't see!"

"You daft old bat!" Phineas Nigellus barked, his monocle dropping out of his eye as she elbowed him aside. "You're not allowed in here!"

"Sod off!"

Below the portraits, the witch and wizard turned to smile at the Blacks, and then the two who had entered the headmistress' office as Severus and Hermione turned and left it as Professor S. Snape, Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Miss Granger, Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was a complication that neither one of them had foreseen.

/x/

High over the lake, Tayet was soaring, her eyes sweeping the surface for a hint of the elusive shadow that dwelt below.

Time matters differently to a phoenix, and the complication of a year, more or less, mattered not at all to Tayet.

It was a glorious morning, and she felt like flying.

* * *

_Finite Incantatem._


End file.
